Midsummer Night ver 2
by Darren Brimhall
Summary: With life on Earth facing exstiction, The Joe Team and Cobra discover the exsistance of a third front that is tied in with the disaster looming over humanity.
1. Chapter 1

**Introduction.**

I've rewritten this simply because it was needed. What they did with the live action film was simply criminal, and that is that. And so you'd understand a few additional things; this story relies upon the **Marvel Comics/ Devil's Due Publications** continuity, and not the IDW Publication—the current publisher of G.I. Joe comic series.

And any astute enough may also find veiled references to other fan favorites in this tale which I hope you'd enjoy.

But do not hesitate to tell me what you do not like about it, it'll help.

Thank you;

Darren Brimhall

1


	2. Chapter 2

One.

Prologue.

Awareness came quickly.

It flooded every corner of his mind in an avalanche of images and impressions from his past, stored with in the very cells of his living being; childhood, school, college, dentistry—Cobra. In moments, Doctor Mindbender was himself again, floating suspended with in the glass cloning chamber smiling in success.

If Cobra Commander ever found out the existence of this, and the other secreted cloning labs, he'd go out of his way to destroy them all with a terrible vengeance. Cobra was the kind of organization where one had to be constantly aware of who was doing what, or discover a knife deeply buried in one's back. But being on the forefront of a movement dedicated towards sweeping away the corrupt, worthless, and stagnated democracies of the World that have long held Humanity in place through lies and manipulation, the risk was worth it to the frustrated, angry and disillusioned people who willingly joined it's ranks on a daily basis. No more having to wait while bureaucrats dragged their feet and cut deals that only benefited the few and solved nothing; in Cobra all actions were instantaneous, without any debate, diplomacy or deal making, which quickly settled problems before they grew into out of control proportions—so typical of democracies and their over-bloated leaders.

Mindbender in his previous life had been such a person, working under rules made by those very bureaucrats' that were both stiflingly repetitive and eating away at the very means of properly performing his work and to make a comfortable living at it through their continuous rule changes while increasing permit and insurance fees and hitting him with constant tax hikes to help 'pay for it all'. What made it worse was the fact that these rules weren't made by those who understood a thing about the profession they were making the rules for. They just made them because they were public officials, appointed to the position, who were granted the authority to do so by 'favor' of the elected officials who put them there, because they felt it was 'the right thing to do' and such change was needed 'for everyone's benefit'. Mindbender weathered those changes while keeping his hatred and frustration bottled away behind a kindly public persona, until experimenting with high-frequency waves to help ease the pain of surgery unbottled all of that inner rage. He was ready to strike out on his own; seeking to destroy those whose inane overly-complex regulations were forcing him from dentistry, when opportunity came to him in the form of one of his better patients.

That person was a hardened man, apparently the survivor of a good many fights whose scars he wore. Mindbender could only guess at what that person did for a living, but knew him for the incredible amount of care he always gave his teeth. And despite his thuggish appearance, the man also turned out to be a very adept listener who suggested that after the Office was close he'd introduce him to some people were like-minded as he—but apart of a group who could do something about the wrongs they all suffered from.

That was Mindbenders introduction to Cobra. His Brainwave Scrambler was an instant hit, and soon the former dentist found his calling working in the 'Special Projects' division of Cobra's weapon research arm. His successes there gained him much attention from the group's hierarchy, so that when the previous Chief Scientist was killed during a battle with the fledgling G. I. Joe Team, Mindbender quickly took his place and held the position until his growing contempt of Cobra Commander's leadership abilities manifested themselves into the cloning experiments that yielded the 'perfect leader'—Serpentor—created from the DNA of history's greatest military leaders. And it was with great hope that the creation would lead Cobra across the threshold to global dominance, and most likely would have had it not been for Cobra Commander's ego that lead to the first internal uprising with in Cobra's ranks that ended with Serpentor's death on the battlefield—and Mindbender's own to a slow, agonizing death by food poisoning partially engineered by the Commander shortly afterward.

Yet years later, in a very unusual twist of fate, Cobra Commander brought Mindbender back using the very same cloning technology. And once again, he became the Commander's loyal servant—but largely for his own benefit. The memory of contempt and first death were embedded with in the strands of DNA used to bring him back, but this time he was wise not to let his feelings be so readily known—at least until a suitable means of striking back was developed. Cobra's unexpected fading from the world's stage gave Mindbender the opportunity he needed, and used the time to establish numerous special cloning labs throughout the World. Stocking them with every convenience he'd need, for the sole purpose of revenge against the Commander. He left no records, no written plans; everything was in his head and stayed there without anyone else knowing. And being securely isolated from each other, there would be no way even for Cobra Commander to find and destroy them all--even after reviving Cobra, had he known about them.

Once again, Mindbender played the loyal servant, until rebelling, again, by creating another Serpentor that rose up against Cobra Commander in another internal uprising for total control of the organization. And once again, Serpentor was defeated and later killed.

Mindbender couldn't recall the exact details of that death. But once properly formed and born, he did intend to look up the matter. Cobra Commander always put his personal victories down on the official record, it would be interesting to see how much gloss and polish would be added to the account.

The fluid was moving faster now in the chamber, brushing silkily over newly formed skin—the incubation time was nearing its end. In preparation, he started flexing his limbs--moving gently at first, then quicker with much more vigor that made him occasionally hit the inside wall of the chamber. There was no danger of him accidentally breaking through the glass by that means, the high-pressure glass was thick enough to deflect auto-cannon rounds. The all too real danger he knew would come would occur in the change from the oxygenated liquid to actual air.

To prevent strangulation, Mindbender knew he'd haft to expel as much of the fluid as he could from his lungs as rapidly as possible. There would be some violent choking and coughing in the process, but the bulk of fluid had to be expelled for him to survive.

And that time was happening now. He could feel the fluid rush past his feet, draining from the chamber through the floor vents beneath his feet. Then he could feel the cool air being pumped into the chamber from above against the skin of his bald head when he took that one last deep inhalation of fluid, holding it until he could feel the level pass his nose and bushy moustache. Once there, Mindbender pushed it out with a very forceful push of his diaphragm muscles and his own arms pushing against his chest.

A quick intake of air caused the expected coughing and choking to occur, but the trauma passed quickly as the last of the fluid exited the chamber. And soon he was taking in great deep breaths of cool air at a regular basis without trouble.

When the glass rose, Mindbender stepped eagerly into the lab.

6


	3. Chapter 3

Two.

Dom Delilegos.

The waspish-appearing Cobra Assault Carrier helicopter silently swept over the Gulf of Mexico, approaching the Dom Delilegos in such a manner that Stalker couldn't help going into battle preparedness as he stood at the starboard railing. His swarthy muscular body moving on pure reflex, even as the Carrier's pilot gained altitude and slowed for landing on the immense research ship's aft landing deck, as he kept a wary eye upon it the whole way.

It was the only thing Stalker could do.

"_No altercations!_" General Colton directly told him and the rest of his team. "_With things as bad as they are, we have no choice but to play by the U.N.'s rules and accept Cobra's offer of a joint investigation into the Meteor Matter,"_

The 'Original' Joe, Colton, still fit and trim after nearly fifty years of military service, looked totally haggard and much older than he was in his office at The Rock. Too many sleepless days with panicked politicians and worried Pentagon Generals over the possibility of the World's oceans dying from extraterrestrial contamination. When it happened, just ten days before, it was considered a real pity by the wheelchair-bound General Hawk, the Team's previous commander and current advisor, that the Meteor hadn't hit Cobra Island squarely—thus ruining all of the rebuilding that was occurring there—instead of missing it by a half-mile to the north in the Gulf. It was the first time anyone saw Hawk smile after getting word of Cobra Commander's release from the special underwater prison he personally put the terrorist mastermind in, and would have made their job of dealing with the Criminal/Terrorist organization much easier since most of their resources were on the island at the time. Those jokes stopped three days later after the second wave of sea creatures, native to the Gulf area, began washing up on shores from Mexico to Florida, dead. Like the first, they too were killed by means unknown. Even the algae, the very life being of many of these creatures in the Gulf, had perished by some mysterious means.

Then somehow, somewhere, someone made the public supposition that whatever was causing these deaths was due to the Meteor, since all of this current trouble started immediately after its landing in the Gulf. It was an observation bound largely in possibility, waiting proper testing before it could ever be considered 'truth', but before it could be proven as fact numerous news services and prominent environmentalists latched onto it as the best available explanation to what was occurring to the Gulf. This touched off a mild flurry of hysteria around the Globe, but the majority at that time didn't consider it to be _the _cause because it had been often pointed out, by the same environmentalists themselves no less, that pollution in the Gulf was sever and often running unchecked for years. Curiosity, on the possibility of life on Earth ending due to some extraterrestrial occurrence, like a large enough Meteor striking any part of the planet though pushed matters to the tipping point. Scientists for years have made such claims that life on Earth could be wiped out by such an occurrence. Though for the most part, the occurrence typically involved a miles wide meteor striking—not something the size of a transit bus, as so estimated to have been what hit the Gulf.

But this curiosity, mixed with the radicals and fear-mongers sounding off to an all to willing to publish, without first checking facts, added by even more reports of even more sea creatures being found dead as far east as the Bahamas, finally pushed things over the edge.

And the Panic was born.

Over night, people everywhere found themselves facing the possibility of the World coming to a polluted, but very definite end. Religious leaders took the cue to proclaim from their pulpits all across television, radio, and internet that this was _the sign _of the End Times that they had for years the Bible so predicted. Many took their own lives in desperation or to avoid the suffering that was soon to follow. Others packed up what they could and fled to areas far isolated from the bulk of civilization where it was believed there was a chance at survival. And there were those who simply did as they pleased, reasoning that since _everything_ was coming to an end why not have as much fun as they can—regardless of what the law said about it.

And then there were those who stood up to the hysteria, calling for calm and reason to prevail. They were scientists, a few politicians known for making careful decisions and numerous private organizations who quickly formed themselves into a coherent force fronted by the private scientific foundation, The Exploratory Society, to confront and solve the Meteor Menace by analyzing what it was to produce a cure for the contamination. This private venture was repeatedly at odds with the United Nations, who under emergency powers, declared itself in charge of the matter—but was too bogged down by its own bureaucratic processes to even begin fielding a team to investigate the matter, due to the constant egotistical in-fighting amongst it's members to place their scientists on the team, as well as 'who' would be the one in charge of it, much to its own dismay. But it could certainly try to prevent anyone else from mounting an expedition to solve the matter, and did so with many--but not the Exploratory Society. Despite numerous attempts to prevent the Society from moving its massive catamaran research ship, the Dom Delilegos, from entering the area, always easily eluded every attempt to stop it, much to the embarrassment of American officials, charged with prevent that from occurring, and to the delight of United Nations critics, who used that inability to attack both the United Nation's claims, and the current presidential administration inability to do anything due to its inept leadership...

And that's when Cobra stepped fully into the picture.

No one was prepared, especially the United Nations itself, for Cobra Commander's bold entrance at that special United Nations General Assembly meeting during on that very desperate afternoon. Flanked by armed Crimson Guardsmen and a brigade of lawyers, the Commander, wearing his official ceremonial, Prussian-style, Cobra dress uniform with its flowing gold and red trimmed cape and mirrored face helmet, he, once taking the podium, surprised and astounded the entire Assembly with the open offer of cooperation in solving the crisis. Naturally, once the shock wore off, critics launch blazing attacks stating that Cobra was exploiting the situation for its own benefit which was most likely the result of a botched experiment. While such accusations did have merit based on past Cobra actions, those and other arguments involving exploiting the situation to achieve its goal of world domination, was soundly rejected by the majority desperately hoping for a miracle that would save both them and their world.

Facing unwanted labeling, as they were already heavily criticized for not doing anything except talk and the harsh political backlash from several of its more notable members over the lack of any cohesive action, the UN overwhelmingly accepted Cobra's offer. That simple action had a cascading effect on breaking through the bureaucratic deadlock, especially concerning the need for an independent third party to oversee the entire investigation from start to finish. And since the Exploratory Society's highly capable research vessel was nearly in the area at that point it was also overwhelmingly decided by the UN to include them as well in the agreement regardless of weather they wanted to be apart of it—which they did not. This also included the hastily written rules of conduct that all involved had to follow, especially the one forbidding any group from bringing weapons on board the vessel, or causing any altercations onboard same vessel, which would cause the mission to be forfeit with full blame placed upon the violators. And to insure these rules were followed, a contingent of United Nations officials would be onboard as well to enforce those rules. Boxed into a corner with no real way to argue against it, and the eyes of a desperate World focused upon them, the Exploratory Society had little choice but to comply with everything...

Activity onboard the Dom Delilegos picked up after the Cobra Carrier landed. Equipment for unloading what was brought was quickly positioned around the insect-like helicopter, and several of the Delilegos crewmembers, in their distinctive power-blue jumpsuits, were standing ready to assist with the offloading. At the far end of the aft landing pad, under the awning of an overhead walkway near a freight elevator, some of the Joe Team members already on board were clustered watching events unfold on the pad—unarmed and uncomfortable.

"It wouldn't surprise me none if there was an assault force in those crates." growled Leatherneck. The aged, weather-beaten marine gunnery sergeant was easily the oldest of the team, and the scowl on his face at what was being done at the other side of the pad wasn't hidden at all.

Scarlett just sighed, brushing away arrant strands of her long red hair that had slipped away from her pony tale. "If that's true, then its open season on Cobra." She remarked.

"Just the same, I like being careful." Leatherneck grumbled back.

She really couldn't blame him, all of them preferred being careful. None of them would trust Cobra, even in shackles. And UN assurances on the matter were laughable at best. In spite such, there could very well be banned weapons hidden in those equipment containers being unloaded from the helicopter as UN Officials blissfully looked on. There were enough Cobra personnel for a small commando squad, facing off against seven unarmed members of G.I. Joe, twenty research scientists, and nearly two hundred crewmembers of what was considered the best self-contained floating laboratory, if not the largest overall vessel afloat, to easily take over the ship.

_Quite a haul if they did. _Scarlett reasoned. _And quite a lot of misery if they did._

Not even Cobra's best lawyers, who could easily worm victory from hundreds of legal systems, could save them from what the World would throw at them. So no, they wouldn't. Besides, Scarlett reasoned, the Commander was smart enough to know that by _acting_ in such a supportive manner would easily gain him great deal of favor amongst the world's leaders—favor he could easily spend towards achieving his goals without using too much force…

Frowning from the possibilities, Scarlett set those thoughts aside while leaning her lithe body against a support with arms folded across her chest, watching the unloading while hoping for a glimpse of Cobra's new Chief Scientist. With Mindbender dead, and only a name, 'Dr. Hydra', to go on, watching the unloading was the best way to see this new person and get an ideal of the kind of person he was.

There were others as well waiting for Hydra. Besides the UN Officials, standing in front of all in their over-eager manner while wearing the Sunday-best suits, was the Dom Delilegos' Captain, Dr. Tori Yukinama; ever prim in her own blue jumpsuit and white canvas shoes as he long black hair swayed ever so gently in the Gulf breeze. And next to her attired in the same way with her ever present clipboard in hand was her personal assistant, Ms. Candy—a short, bespeckeled, voluptuous woman whose fiery red hair was done up in a promenade ponytail. Together or separately, they could easily dominate the modeling world. But Yukinama fiery temper often ruled the day, especially concerning the most minor infractions--usually after Ms. Candy reported them. The Joes could understand it, she, like they, was resentful at being forced to work under rules dictated by desperate bureaucrats like they were. But it was plainly oblivious that she wasn't going to grant them free run of the ship as they'd like. On more than one occasion, she personally stopped UN Officials from repeatedly prying into areas of the ship stating it wasn't their place to do such things in spite the Agreement, and threatened to take the Delilegos from the area rather than deal with the constant interruptions of the U.N.—treaty or no treaty. The Officials would continuously declare and demand, but they could do nothing more with such a threat hanging over their heads.

She wasn't much better with the Joes, who often found themselves in the middle of such arguments. What she'd do with Cobra was open to speculation. But if it was the same as already experienced by both them and the UN, this was going to be a very long mission indeed.

"And sign of life yet?" Stalker asked, coming upon his teammates from behind.

"No one important yet." Scarlett frowned without turning around. "Mindbender wouldn't have kept people waiting this long."

"Probably why he got snuffed." Stalker remarked, which made Leatherneck snort.

But soon enough, there was movement at the Carrier's main door. A person in a very stylish white suit with an equally stylish wide-brimmed panama hat formally stepped out of the helicopter, and proceeded to the UN Officials with a great deal of official formality.

"Look important enough?" Leatherneck off-handedly remarked.

"Looks like Noel Coward." Scarlet replied, squinting at the fancy dressed figure.

Stalker was about to say the same, but kept himself quite while examining the well-tailored man with due caution.

"Might as well introduce ourselves." Stalker said instead.

When the Joes finished their slow pilgrimage across the landing pad, the UN Officials were happily gone and Dr. Yukinama was speaking with the nattily dressed man. The closer they came, the finely tailored Cobra representative appearance became more apparent. He was a short, heavyset man with thick beetle brows and a broad face lacking wrinkles despite a head of thick gray hair, who clearly knew how a suit should be worn for he wore it across his wide frame without a bind or wrinkle. Only when they arrived, did they also see the thin gold framed glasses the man was wearing.

And by then, he had noticed them.

"And this is the G.I. Joe contingent?" he simply asked Yukinama.

"Only part, Doctor Hydra." She crisply responded. "The rest better be in their assigned areas."

"Better…be?"

Hydra openly wondered, while looking Stalker over.

"Per stands the Agreement." She quickly started on. "Both Joe and Cobra groups will be kept separate when not undertaking their assigned duties while onboard this vessel. This is meant to avoid any…"

She glanced between both groups before finishing with, "Clashes."

Hydra nodded pleasantly while Stalker regarded him with mild distaste. "That is in the Agreement, yes."

"Good." Yukinama tightly smiled at them both. "Because I also have both permission and plenty of rope to hang both of you off the collapsible drilling boom of this ship should there be any violations of this Agreement."

Of course, she didn't. They all knew that. But she also made it all so very clear to them that she wasn't about to wait, or care, for the UN to make up its feeble mind on the matter.

Stalker took the cue and grudgingly address Hydra directly; "So, we have your assurance that there will be no such activity from Cobra that would violate the Agreement?"

"Just as I have your assurances that G.I. Joe will not conduct any such activities well?" Hydra smoothly responded. "There is too much at stake to loose over petty squabbling."

Stalker fought down a surge of anger that raged over the humiliation he was feeling at that moment.

"You have our assurance of such, Dr. Hydra." He calmly responded, keeping himself in check.

"And you have them from Cobra." Hydra calmly nodded back.

"Your quarters are ready, Doctor." Yukinama quickly stepped in. "My assistant will show you to them."

After Hydra said his thanks, he allowed himself to be lead away by Ms. Candy. When they were out of earshot, Yukinama rounded in on the Joes. "I figured on a confrontation happening, that's the other reason why I came out here." She very directly told Stalker. And after an icy moment of silence, she smiled to all of them, "Glad to see something important managed to sink past all that thick bone surrounding your brains."

A slight twitch occurred to his eyes, but Stalker managed to catch himself before doing some rounding of his own upon Yukinama. It wasn't the time, or the place, for such things, he quickly reasoned with himself. That would come later, when such acts would cause no harm to anything.

"At Eighteen Hundred hours, there will be an official dinner—the UN requested we do it." Yukinama then addressed the three of them. "No fancy dress. But you'd better mind your manners, or things will come to a halt very quickly."

"We'll be there." Stalker evenly replied, keeping the beasts within at bay.

"Good." Yukinama crisply stated, then swiftly turned on heel and left.

Stalker clenched both his fists and teeth as one final surge of anger went through him.

"Easy now." Scarlet carefully warned.

"I'm…fine." He fumed.

"You're miserable like the rest of us." Grumbled Leatherneck. "It's these orders we're forced to work under."

While Leatherneck's words revealed his own resentment towards the mission itself, Stalker easily agreed with the simple truth of it; having to go unarmed in the presence of their enemies was more than simply insulting it was also wearing on their pride. But the orders had to be followed, and as trained soldiers they would follow those orders as hated as they were.

But later, when it was over…

"Come on." Stalker told them. "We'd better give New Orleans the word that Cobra's finally arrived."

13


	4. Chapter 4

Three.

Wildman.

Stalker's voice was clearer than any normal cell phone could ever produce as the special access elevator rose up to the New Orleans' Tower Continental Penthouse Suites level, which had been a slight worry considering weather or not the amount of metal in the elevator, and the Hotel itself, would disrupt or block any incoming signal. The elevators speed wasn't too swift, but the chrome and mirror interior reflected the lights so brightly it prompted both General Colton and Duke to wear their sunglasses or risk wrecking their eyes from the glare.

Now, if only the news from the Delilegos had been better.

_"That's about it."_ Stalker said. "_All of the scientific minds are together. Lifeline will keep us informed of any happenings amongst them."_

"Hopefully, it won't be anything serious." Colton replied. "I know it's a royal pain for all of you to endure sitting out there with them, but hopefully this won't last much longer."

Something that sounded like a rude snort came over the phone, followed swiftly by Stalker promising to follow orders. After the sign-off, Colton closed the phone and tucked it away inside his uniform's jacket.

"Doesn't sound all hugs and kisses out there, doesn't it." Duke commented.

"Just like us, they're out there with hands tied by bureaucrats who are scared out of their minds." Colton bitterly frowned. "I don't blame any of them one bit for being miserable out there, but we _do_ have our jobs to do—understand?"  
"Yes sir, I do." Duke quickly said, and Colton quickly calmed himself down.

There being where they were at that moment began with a special scrambler call seven hours before, requesting Colton's immediate presence at the Pentagon. But instead of another logistics meeting which he so dreaded, he was taken directly to the D-Ring's Special Briefing Room where for an whole hour a female CIA Operative, who didn't introduce herself or remove her fashionable black sunglasses, briefed him on the life of one Kimball Clarke Wildman. Colton sat there, trying to act interested, as the agent went over the stellar carrier of a man from Northern Montana managed to take more honors than any past or current student from Harvard, Cambridge and Cal-Tech before reaching the age of twenty—but deep down, he really resented the intrusion into his already complicated life.

"He was a highly regarded scientist, commanding in several fields of study. A surgeon of incredible skill and talent highly sought after by many of the worlds leading hospitals." The Agent went on in clipped monotonic fashion. "Wildman easily possess an astronomical intelligence within the body of a highly trained athlete, and highly ranked in ten different martial arts forms, boxing and wrestling. If he wasn't so scientifically inclined, he would have been a Master-level secret agent."

Colton still wasn't impressed, but didn't show it. All he wanted to know was _why _he was dragged away from an important operation to this. The Agent just went right over him, still speaking in those flat, emotionless tones. "Twenty-three years ago, the Government managed to land his talents for several projects that not even you have the clearance to even know about, General Colton. Or even know about, even today, even with the forces you command.

"But one year later, he vanishes, foiling the most sophisticated security system that had ever been devised at that time—never to be found. Agents from numerous agencies all over the globe haven't been able to even find a trace of him anywhere…Until a Cobra courier was intercepted in Miami, with this."

Colton tried looking interested at the paper the Agent handed to him, but all his actions, even after reading the message, were simply lax and automatic…

**Wildman in New Orleans…Tower Continental Hotel…**

** Ready to leave at anytime…**

Colton didn't say, comment, or ask about the matter. It was all just too nutty to taken seriously. The message was two weeks old, which was terribly nice to know along with the surveillance that was performed at the named Tower Continental that confirmed what the message said. He was given proof of this in a visual presentation that showed Wildman's Warlock security badge, compared to the more recent pictures.

The differences between then and now were startling; the badge showed a bronzed skinned young man who was handsomely rugged, clean shaven face with just touches of femininity and a high forehead peeking out from behind thick bangs of long black hair that cascaded across his shoulders and out of the photo's frame. Now, in a picture taken with a high-res camera, that very face was covered with a network scars, up, down, crossways, long and short, even rudely cutting across one another's path, especially the thick one ran beneath his eyes, through the bridge of his nose and down to the edge of his right jaw covering his entire right cheek. It was like nothing Colton had ever seen in his entire military carrier. Wildman was so scarred up it appeared his face had been shoved into a mulcher and hastily stitched back together again.

But even in such a state, the deeply bronzed skin and notable forehead were still there. Even those glittering gold eyes which easily identified him; no one had eyes like that, especially how they whirled and danced like they did in the security photo.

"The Agency has managed to secure a decent suite at the Continental for use at a base of operations for this mission. It is imperative that Cobra not get its hands on Wildman, even if you must grossly violate his civil rights—_Kimball Clarke Wildman is not to fall into Cobra's hands…"_

And Cobra was G.I. Joe's concern. Though Colton could easily point out the number of times agencies like the CIA ran operations that very nearly undermined several important Joe-Missions, and the fact that they also allowed the group to reclaim their island out in the Gulf when radiation levels were deemed safe enough, he still kept quiet. This was just a messenger who was briefing him; nobody real enough to tear into or bother explaining protocol to because once the meeting was finished she would then vanish into the shadowy world of Intelligence where no one would acknowledge she ever existed.

Or care. Even with the World possibly coming to an end, they still played their secretive games for their own purposes.

Colton was in New Orleans by dawn of that day with no choice in the matter, assembling what Joe Team members he could spare from those poised to defend the Dom Delilegos from attack for this new mission. None of them were happy with it, and all were resentful for the CIA for dropping it in their laps. But being professionals, they didn't complain about it too much either. It also allowed Colton to bring every Joe he could off of the reserved list, returning the group to its full status.

But getting Wildman, or at least close enough to confirm or deny that it _really_ was him, proved to be a very difficult matter.

All direct requests to speak with, even send messages to met with, were rebuffed by the Continental's management. They claimed their penthouse suites were empty and that nobody by that name was even registered at the hotel. Attempts to enter the suites clandestinely were thwarted by the fact that the suites themselves were only accessible by special elevator, a fact not shown in the building plans supplied by the CIA, and there wasn't any clear way beyond the use of explosives and heavy power tools of even reaching that particular shaft which ran right up the center of the building's 'Tower'. Service elevators gave some hope, but there were two types; one for the Penthouse section, and those for the rest of the Hotel. The former could be accessed through the service section, but with such high security that the Joes own computer experts couldn't breech the system before the hotels' own mainframe system was alerted to their intrusions.

By midday, they were a strongly considering direct assault upon the suites and were putting together an equipment list of what would be needed. Colton, normally a very patient person, both as a soldier and individual, was reaching the very end of that patience. Worse, was the constantly nagging possibility that Wildman wasn't even up there at all started growing on him. It wouldn't be the first time the CIA lead them astray, and it would be disastrous if they were caught in the act. There would be no way they could even begin to accuse the CIA of lying about Wildman's presence, and wouldn't get blamed if it blew up on them. Duke, who knew of the matter and history surrounding Wildman, was able to fill in his teammates on the motivation the Agencies had for locating the man; "They had agents all over the place looking for this guy." He explained. "It drove department heads absolutely crazy and many agents into early retirement when leads didn't pan out. By the time I came on, mentioning Wildman's name was like saying "_Voldemort_"; people either winced fearfully or ran screaming from you. But with the case not being officially closed by the Head, the investigation was usually handled by agents who were known disciplinary problems."

And if they did nothing at all, Colton knew the backlash against the Team would be murderous. They were in a vice that was crushing them with no way to stop it.

Then at one o'clock that afternoon, the hotel's manager called Colton, by name, on the room's phone, informing him that Doctor Kimball Clarke Wildman would like to see him up in the penthouse suite in an hour, if it was possible for him to do so. If so, all he would need to do is to head down to the main lobby desk where he'd identify himself to the clerks on duty and they'd handle the rest. It took a bit to recover from the shock, but the manager was patient while waiting for a response.

When the shock wore off, Colton asked, "Would it be possible to bring guests with me?"

It was a fairly stupid question, but it one fueled by hope just the same.

The answer came back after a minute of silent agony; _"You may bring just one other along with you." _ Naturally, it was Duke. With his background in the 'Spook Services' that still occasionally looked into the Wildman case, the Team's First Sergeant was the perfect choice to accompany Colton.

But even he had his doubts.

"It it's really him, how do you intend convincing him to stay?"

"Diplomacy." Colton simply answered. "If he's willing to come back with us, that'll be fine. Otherwise, there's very little else we can do up there for now. But at least we'll know he's there."

But even as he spoke, Colton kept other possibilities in mind. What if Wildman refused to return? What if Wildman was luring them into a trap, so to enhance his own credibility with Cobra? His profile showed the polymath to be an exceptionally fair and honest man, so there was apparently little chance of any arguments occurring. But what if they were nothing more than an advanced team?

That ideal worried Colton the most. Even when presented with the photographic evidence of Wildman's presence in New Orleans, there was that wonder _why_ _didn't they go after him?_ To him it was simple to add up, if things blew up the blame needed to be placed somewhere and placing it on an institution such as the CIA was much more difficult than placing it on a group like G.I. Joe—who really had no business undertaking such operations. He could see it all now; the denouncements, the denials, the politicians who long sought to reign in the Team's authority and ability to act practically stumbling allover themselves before both Congress and the Media with the explanation of why such groups need to be placed under tighter government control…

But orders were orders. The Joes where already in the area, and could be used in anyway the Government felt best—even if it meant disavowing any knowledge of their actions. That's how things were done; never mind the cost of the action—just deal with the _now_. And what happens later will be fixed by someone else.

"I just hope it's him." Duke quietly spoke as the elevator came to a slow halt.

Given what they have encountered in service to the Government, in response, both General Colton and Duke had developed skin of incredible thickness to prevent both emotion and fear from interfering with their duty. It wasn't an easy profession, nothing anyway close to what was depicted in film and television. They had to detach themselves for what occurred around them so to perform their duty to the utmost of their ability, it was a necessary fact.

But when the elevator finally stopped, and its doors automatically opened without a sound, both Colton and Duke were literally struck dumb by whom they encountered waiting for them at the threshold.

It wasn't easy to avoid Lisa Hawkern, porn and pin-up star, whose voluptuous figure both fueled a thousand sex fantasies and debate over how such a woman with such a narrow waist could avoid ruining their lower spines as long as she had with such a large breast size. While her waist wasn't as narrow as some claimed, as the jet-black body suit she wore before them so indicated, still, that single piece suit with no discernable zippers or other forms of fasteners that allowed entrance and exit, that formed a smooth second skin over her amply large breasts that defied gravity, firm body, narrow waist and curvaceous legs that disappeared into thigh-high boots, she was an absolute stunner with short off the shoulder blond hair and mischief across her heart-shaped face, she easily froze the Joes to the spot with her smile.

"Gentlemen, please follow." She purred with enticing sweetness and that well known mischievous smile, before pivoting slowly and slinking off down the hall in a way no normal person could ever ignore. Following was the easy part. Following while keeping in mind why they were there, following such an attractive woman who apparently dipped herself into a vat of quick-drying rubber latex, was nearly impossible for one as taciturn as Colton often considered him to be. He found himself wanting to be fighting it out with either overly bureaucratic government officials or highly secretive CIA personal than being where he was. Those battles he was used to, not the one occurring now over his self control while following Hawkern to a well-furnished and roomy cream colored living room.

As far as Penthouse suites went, what they walked into was extremely open and very spacious. Light entering through the giant western windows was toned down to a more comfortable level, despite the windows not having any mirrored or tinted finish on the outside. The living room itself was a circular sunken floor two feet lower than entrance foyer and large enough to qualify as a small ballroom, carpeted with shag carpeting so thick it was like walking through tall grass. Bookshelves, cabinets, short tables and couches lined the curved outer paneled wall. _Oak_, Duke figured, _one of the darker varieties…Or perhaps mahogany_. It was all styled in classical Victorian, with a twenty-first century touch that wasn't too terribly gaudy or wearing on the eyes. The Victorian motif continued to the sturdy mahogany tables, and leather upholstered ottomans with matching foot rests situated in the center of the room, especially pricey with their real polished brass inlays and numerous studs. Seated in one of those overstuffed ottomans, Donnie Thomas Ayers, Professor of Cybernetic and Aeronautical Application and Design, gazed up at them rather sharply over the top of his newspaper. Besides being noted quite proximately as a close friend of Wildman's, the gruff looking heavy-set engineer was still dressed in the brown belted boots, bell-bottom pants, battered brown leather jacket and wide-brimmed fedora as seen in the CIA surveillance pictures. It made them wonder if he ever changed his clothes, or had other styles to change into.

But when Colton's mind finally unstuck itself, he started wondering why Hawkern was here. Wildman had no known associations with such a person, in any shape, form or fashion as his profession was as far from hers as Ayer's was as well. It was a puzzle that started bothering him, more than Ayers oblivious dislike of them being here.

"We were expecting Wildman." Colton formally began to Ayers, "We were told--."

"Yes…He told us." Ayers distastefully grumbled.

"Kim's currently cleaning himself up after exercising." Hawkern added with a charming smile from the exquisite black leather couch she planted her self upon, casually swinging one leg over the other.

"He should be out in a few." Ayers added in a low voice. "I'll check."

"Thank you." Colton simply replied, not rising to the bait that Ayers was obliviously handing out.

"You're welcome." Ayers grumbled back as he turned, and soon left through a door at the far end of the room. Duke watched him go with an oblivious frown. Colton kept himself in firm control.

"Don't let him worry you." Hawkern apologized. "Kim caught us all by surprise when he invited you both up here. Donnie hasn't gotten over it, but give him time…"

Colton simply smiled and nodded, giving the indication that all was well while within he was bothered by the porn queen's presence—she didn't fit in at all that had been presented to him. But information slips were a CIA hallmark, possibly why Wildman remained hidden for so long.

But there was just too much to wonder about.

"C'orse, I wonder why, even after all this time, the Government still has a strong interest in him.." Hawkern casually put in while rising from the couch. "Would either of you care for a drink?"

Colton carefully started choosing what words to say, but Duke stepped right in. "We're interested in where he's been these past twenty-two years. He may not have realized it, but his disappearance caused the Government quite a lot of concern—and we'd like an explanation."

Hawkern by then was already at the marble-topped mini-bar, bending down with legs apart to reach for the glasses in the lower cupboard in such a manner that Colton quickly adverted his eyes for decency's sake. His personal period of pin-up's porn ended upon marriage, and he certainly wasn't going to upset Jane by going back to it. Duke just took in the sight with a wide grin.

"There's also the possibility that he's in danger." Colton carefully said.

"Kim's always been in some form of danger since he was born." Hawkern casually informed while preparing a pair of wide glass tumblers on the mini-bar's counter-top. "If it wasn't one thing, it was another. He's an adventurer at heart, and it drove all of us nuts. But then, we'd follow him anywhere regardless."

The surprise caught Colton directly. "You've known him that long?"

"Since childhood." Hawkern casually continued. "You can say we're old friends. Really close."

"So you would know about his plans then?"

Colton knew Duke dropped that in just to see what Hawkern would do. He didn't come right out and talk about Cobra, the intercepted message was too vague on anything--but there were also too many other things that could indicate the possibility of a defection occurring. That amongst everything, was the one thing they had to be certain of.

"A person of his caliber falling into the wrong hands, could have devastating consequences for us all." Colton added.

"So, you would simply like him to come back with you?" Hawkern responded, not turning around or working.

"Like what General Colton said, he maybe in danger." Duke responded. "It would be in everyone's favor if he did come with us."

Hawkern turned then. There were no glasses in her hands, nor was she as pleasant as before.

"Have either of you ever herd of 'free will'?" she asked.

"Do you know what enslavement is, Ms Hawkern?" Colton countered.

Hawkern was about to reply to that, but something behind them had her attention. "It depends upon one's point of view. General Colton."

The voice that came from that part of the living room was controlled, and unignorable under any circumstances. Both Joes turned to face this new person. But they already knew who it was…

_Wildman. _

He stood casually but readily on the rise before them wearing only black gym pants with the string tied in the front, like martial artists did in movies before a fight. His mane of jet black hair cascading from his head down his back to nearly reach the floor, tied back haphazardly into a thrown together pony-tail while two wide side bangs hung raggedly down from both sides of his face to his collar-bone. Even after seeing the photo's of Wildman's face, Colton was still stunned into silence by the sight of the scars running across Wildman's exposed body. They ran up, down, crossways, long and short, even rudely cutting across one another's path mingling amongst the slashes and punctures—even his hands and feet weren't spared—made him a hastily stitched together, cut-rate Frankenstein standing before them on the rise.

But even in such a state, it was the eyes that identified him. No one had eyes like that, how they whirled and danced in the way they did. But the look of calmness and ease on his scared face settled them to the hope he could be reasoned with. And when he moved, despite the scars, his lean powerful body flowed magnificently. Another recognizable trait so noted in the report.

"Doctor Wildman?" Colton quietly asked, slowly getting over the shock.

He could hear Duke shift behind him.

A sheepish grin broke across that scarred face. "Apparently, when you enter '_special_' Government service, you're there for life. Otherwise, you wouldn't have bothered looking for me for so long."

Standing behind Wildman, Ayers looked even more contemptuous.

"You're…unique." Colton simply responded.

"Really? I figured it had something to do with how I left Warlock."

"That's also part of it." Colton nodded.

"Well I did try resigning." Wildman explained gliding silently down the steps towards them. "But they wouldn't have any of it. They even threatened me with severe harm if I tried it again. So, I left."

Colton frowned. Wildman's nonchalant attitude was surprising in light of what was told about him. In the briefing file, he was described as being formal and polite—even reasonable. Now, he was anything but--which was troubling.

Colton took the chance, "Have you herd of Cobra, Doctor?

"A global organization dedicated to bringing unity and order to the chaos created by the current system of bureaucracy and democracy so prevalent in the World today." Wildman answered, coming to a halt before him. "I have herd of them, yes."

"I wouldn't consider them in such a light-hearted manner, Doctor." Colton gravely replied. "They are a very dangerous organization."

Wildman didn't quickly respond, he stood there before Colton like a poker player studying their dealt hand. It wasn't a hopeful sign, but Colton knew he'd scored a hit—in more ways than one.

"No more different that those running Warlock." Wildman evenly responded. "Regardless of what you've been told, General, I did try resigning from Warlock--but they wouldn't allow it. They tried patriotism, playing up with great emotion how vital my work was to the continued safety and freedom of the West. When that failed, they became nasty and started twisting my arm. I really hate having my arm twisted, especially by bureaucrats and generals who haven't a shred of moral fiber or consideration for what horrors they were creating at Warlock."

Then he bent forward, gazing directly into Colton's eyes with his glittering ones unnerving the battle hardened general. "Yes, horrors. Nightmare's too. They pulled the ideals from disaster novels and doomsday movie plots, and forced us there to recreate them so the Free World would be protected from all its enemies. So I find it quite difficult to believe that a group like Cobra could be _sooooo_ bad when such perversity of science occurs in the name of _preserving freedom_."

Colton blinked. What Wildman did at that place he named 'Warlock' was way beyond the reach of his security clearance, which was very high indeed. He knew asking would get him nowhere, so he didn't bother. Now he wished he did. But now, all Colton could do was try to think of a way of getting Wildman under control.

Then Wildman's face sunk in a sad sort of way while gazing at him. Colton didn't know what to think of this change, be he didn't have too long to wait…

"It appears that all we're doing is wasting time." Wildman sadly lamented. "I had so hoped for a change in attitudes, especially in this present crisis. But I, apparently, was wrong."

"Doctor!" Duke quickly began. "You walked away—"

"_I escaped!_" Wildman suddenly snapped back with explosive viciousness, his golden eyes blazing fiercely at Duke. "I escaped from madmen who only had the thought of holding power at any cost! Even if it meant destroying the whole of Humanity, they still lusted after that power--and I, and others like me, were charged with the duty of giving it to them—all in the name of reserving the freedom and security of the Free World. And if that's how far you are willing to go to achieve such, then I want nothing to do with any of you _at all!_"

The Joes were stunned to silence. Colton tried firing his mind into acting, so he could say something as Wildman turned away from them with absolute contempt. And that's when he realized; _He is going to defect!_

"You're going—"

"As soon as I can, hopefully by tonight." Wildman defiantly frowned back, still angry but calmer. "I have no desire to return to what I escaped from Twenty-two years ago. In fact, with Cobra's help, I hope to remake the world into a better place."

Colton just stared at him in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, General Colton. I will not be going back. I will not be a governmental possession again."

Colton could feel the anger well up from with in. _The fool, the selfish fool, how could he be so blind to the danger he's getting into? _Holding his composure became a serious battle to fight. And Ayers shifting back there in the doorway because he plainly believed a fight was going to suddenly break out, wasn't helping matters at all.

"You're insane." Duke directly told Wildman.

"Is that the excuse you'll use to imprison me?" Wildman glared back. "The Lawyers my friends have retained for my benefit are among the best there are, and they are listening in on this very conversation."

Colton froze. Duke just gaped.

"Even if you are successful in taking me from this Suite, they will be waiting at the Courthouse with the Judge to release me." Wildman easily pointed out. "Also listening are others, who'll stop you if you try a different tact."

Wildman wasn't retreating. His stance was defiant, and his glare was firm. Colton knew the only way he'll come back will either be in chains or dead, and either way was bound to be destructive.

Then so be it. "If you ever try defecting to Cobra, Doctor," Colton directly told Wildman with a warning look, "you and your friends will be imprisoned for aiding and abetting a terrorist organization—"

"While not even considering yourselves to be the same, General? Trapping the unwary into a lifetime of horrible unconditional servitude. Forcing them to sacrifice freedom, friends, family…loved ones…just so to remain in power by creating a steady stream of increasingly deadly and destructive weapons? That's hardly what the 'Free World likes admitting it does, doesn't it?" Wildman glared back. " All I was to those who ran Warlock was a means to an end. A _tool _they could use to achieve their twisted dreams, and nothing more. I have no intention of ever living that sort of life again! In fact, joining Cobra may be the only sure way of stopping that horrible cycle _once and for all!_"

They rode the elevator down in silence.

Both were fit to burst. Professionalism kept it under control, but they were no more human than anyone else—just a little more controlled.

But human none the less.

Then Duke broke the silence. "We're going to stop Wildman. Aren't we?"

Colton didn't speak at first. Visions of a defiant Wildman tore at him as he struggled with his composure. He knew then if he opened his mouth to respond, it would be a yell that would come out.

Duke didn't push him for an answer.

He waited.

"I want operational scenarios planned out that'll prevent Wildman from ever reaching Cobra." Colton strainedly spoke. "Even up to pulling him off of Cobra Island, or killing him before they can do anything with him."

Hearing such orders didn't surprise Duke at all, given current circumstances. They were in a vice that was rapidly closing in on them. Failure would mean disbandment, and opportunity for those in both Government and the Military to create a 'better' team that'll do what they want. Duke could see it all very clearly.

But then, when were they not playing for all the marbles.

"Give me thirty minutes, and you'll have it." Duke grinned.

Though Colton's back was too him, Duke knew the General was smiling too.

"And get what you can on Hawkern's past." Colton added, calmer now. "Nothing modern, I want her past—and cross reference it with what there is on Wildman…"

They saw it all on the giant wall-mounted television in the Suite's living room.

And when the Joes left the elevator, Hawkern turned off the set.

"It's nice to be considered." She commented, setting the control down.

Then she noticed Wildman still sadly staring at the screen.

"Kim," she gently said him, "there wasn't much choice in this."

Wildman's expression only darkened. "Even after all this time, all I am to them is a possession."

Then he shook his head. "Still, I could have handled myself better."

Hawkern gave him a sympathetic look, then she turned to Ayers ruefully. "You're acting could have been better, Donnie."

"Who says I was!" Ayers loudly retorted. "And how in hell did they get wind of Kim being here?"

"A leak, what else?" Hawkern frowned back.

"It doesn't matter now." Wildman suddenly cut in. "They're here, and we need to deal with it." Then he turned to Ayers, asking, "Any luck with where they're set up at?"

"Seventh floor, room thirteen. Room Service is allowed no further than the door, and we can hear them lounge around the place—except for the Master Bedroom." Ayers reported. "They've done something in there. We can't see or hear what it is."

"That's a violation of the Room Policy." Hawkern smiled. "Consider eviction?"

"There's no point in tipping our hand." Wildman told her. "Besides, we know where they are at—I don't want to loose that advantage, especially now. We'll let Cobra deal with them, if they don't already know they're there. We're cutting things so close, we can't afford risk—"

"Nineteen hours and counting…Yes, we know." Ayers interrupted. "Everything's finally in place on the Delilegos."

"How about contacting Major Bludd to speed things up?" Hawkern hopefully asked.

"I wish." Wildman frowned. "I don't call him, he calls me."

He checked is watch while saying that. It was a larger than normal watch worn on his right wrist, that told more than just the time in many different ways in many different places, requiring a thicker than normal write band to keep it in place. Hawkern and Ayers wore similar watches on their wrists as well.

"Two hours." Wildman said. "That's when he'll call."

"And that's when we'll tell him." Hawkern nodded definitely.

"It'll be painful for the Joes." grimaced Ayers.

"They aren't totally inept, and can fend for themselves." Wildman coolly stated. "Beside, we've bigger worries to deal with now. What about Devronique?"

"Putting the finishing touches on his grand parade." Hawkern answered. "If we don't stop him by daybreak, he'll be here in all his glory by this time tomorrow."

Wildman quietly looked at her, then Ayers. Their worry was oblivious on their faces.

"We're keen as long as we keep our edge." He gently told them. "It'll be to the wire, but we can pull it off. So don't dwell on possibilities of failure, I need you both on edge and ready when the time comes."

"Like that old days?" Ayers smirked.

Wildman nodded while grinning, "Yes…But with more marbles to win."

24


	5. Chapter 5

Four.

Party.

The Dinner was held in the ship's main auditorium. Not an overly large place, but still laid out in the general slanted floor design to a stage layout with dark curtains tied off at the sides of the stage with a large video monitor hanging over the stage floor. But the stage itself allowed for the setting of five long tables, three of which arrayed in a 'C' formation while the other two were set a man's with apart in the center with an excellent variety of meats, breads, cheeses, vegetables and other suppertime sundries laid out in buffet style upon nice lien covers with fine china cups and plates, wine flutes, silverware, and napkins accessible to all--and with crewmembers dressed formally to act like waiters. The entire UN Delegation was seated closest to the giant video screen monitor at the back wall of the stage along with Yukinama, Candy, and several of the Scientists. The Joes, all six of them, along the right table, facing the Cobra Delegation, which included Doctor Hydra, on the other side of the stage. Dr. Yukinama and Ms. Candy, still with her clipboard occupied the center seats of the first table, and were the last to both serve themselves and be seated—but not from courtesy to the others. They made sure there were no altercations in such close quarters between the Joes and Cobra groups, and there were none much to their relief.

If plans called for a simple get-together, that was soon brought down when the leader of the UN Delegates, a polished man with a fatherly appearance who like an oily politician spoke at length on many subjects, often without warning, announced that there will be a special broadcast made from not only UN Headquarters, but from numerous spots around the World, consisting of people who wanted to extend their heartfelt thanks and hopes for success of the mission.

Hydra kept himself in check, smiling and nodding like an idiot while everyone else, except the UN Officials, began wilting as the never-ending parade of officials from around the world who spoke at considerable length from the monitor to express their heartfelt thanks and praise to both the Joes and Cobra in setting aside their differences to work together in "these trying times." By the time the sixth official came on, that simple choice of words turned into a much overused phrase. When the special broadcast started including members of various officials staff, a seemingly no-stop parade of more politicians from other countries, and finally people on the street, with no apparent time limit for their 'personal' message, the toll of having to sit through all of that, was largely taking it's effect upon all of them but the UN Officials—who apparently couldn't get enough of the mind-numbing televised praise.

As the Cobra officer seated in front started gently snoring, Hydra glanced across the dimly lit stage to see the Joes in a similar state—though valiantly trying to fight off the induced stupor. Dr. Yukinama no better than her immediate staff, but becoming more and more strained by the assault. Ms. Candy simply gave up, her head rolling to one side and staying there with eyes closed.

It gave him the opportunity he was long hoping for.

Practiced moves enabled him to reach and handle his special ballpoint pen without incurring any suspicion. It was larger than normal, but its mahogany body with golden trim gave it a quite fashionable appearance and writing with it was a dream. It was also his version of the late Dr. Mindbender's own Brainwave Scrambler, far less oblivious and more functional than his predecessors in appearance like his very ornate gold and sapphire tie pin—also a brainwave scrambler, but with lesser range than the pen. Hydra would have preferred standing up close to each Joe, but such movement would have been spotted by those spewing drivel from the monitor. But he knew opportunities didn't come as he'd like, so after using the Officer's body as a shield, he sent along very narrow ultra high frequency wave coded commands to each Joe he pointed his pen at. First Stalker, then Scarlett and Leatherneck, followed by the nebbish Dial-Tone, the salvager Deep-Six, and finally, after some difficult twisting, the Joe doctor, Lifeline. When done, he put his pen back in its jacket with none the wiser. The codes would be activated by his verbal command at the proper time, which would be very soon.

When the broadcast finished and the lights came back up to full power, Hydra's loud clapping woke those from their induced slumber.

When a city grows, it's only natural that the land around it is taken according to need.

In the case of New Orleans however, not only was any available land taken up, but swamps and marshes were drained and filled, and everything else protected by a series of dykes and levees to prevent the Gulf from reclaiming it all.

On what had once been seven square miles of delta swampland, the New Orleans Tower Continental Hotel/Mall/Convention Center now stood in all its pristine glory. Five square mines of asphalt, steel, concrete, plastic and every other building material known to man, completed in less than a year—as had every other Tower Continental built around the world. And each was constructed in the same manner of design; a multi-floored hexagonagal medieval castle styled building from which rose for thirty floors a hexagon shaped tower containing hotel rooms of different sizes and configurations, topped by the distinctive five story octagon shaped turret containing the penthouse suites, which over hung the tower's body by a good ten feet.

From the north and south sides of the Base, long, large and wide cathedral-like structures extended outward for a good two miles. These were the Mall extensions, three floors above the ground, and two below, containing shops, meeting rooms and office space in all shapes and sizes, and all accessible by means of innovative electric trams that moved from stop to stop with in the Mall, as well as stops out in the extensive above ground parking lot, and below ground parking lots, within enclosed Plexiglas tubes, every quarter mile. Multiplex movie theaters were attached to the Mall extensions typically near the Base, about four such structures in all, and next to them, but jutting out at forty-five degree angles from the Base, were the Convention Halls. Each of these was large, multi-story, self-contained structures, capable of handling the largest of conventions with ease. And in the immediate spaces between the Convention Hall's and Multiplexes, small parks complete with trees, shrubbery, rest stops and informational kiosks were placed for customer's comfort—no different than want was found with in the Mall's themselves, only the plants were in limited quantity with in the structure itself.

Large skylights allowed natural sunlight to filter all the way down to the Mall's lowest floors, and filtered by means of mirrored piping into the Base and Convention Halls as well, supplementing the electrical lighting used throughout the entire complex during the daytime. At night, the Continental ran on its own power supply separate from the City's, though no government inspector could really find out what it exactly was since there were no near-by power plants were it could get energy from except the City of New Orleans proper. But it was determined not to be nuclear by numerous means, even independent ones, becoming one more mystery about the Tower Continental that only added to its attraction.

What wasn't really known was that the entire complex was computer controlled from a mainframe system buried deeply beneath the Base, manned day and night by trusted technicians and protected from all manner of attack. Every aspect ranging from lighting to temperature, to emergency response and over all security, was governed in such a manner. Especially on that particular night, where nearly every aspect of the Mall was crowded with partiers—all closely watched and monitored.

But there were others not attending the party. Two of them, General Colton and Psyche-Out, the Joe Team's Psychological Warfare expert, were locked away in the master bedroom of their seventh floor suite, watching Wildman pace quietly, his long hair now tied up in an impressive tail that gently swayed as he moved, dressed completely in black demin from his boots and bell-bottom pants to his light jacket that seemed a little bulky around the torso, amongst the partiers on monitors they hacked into the Hotel's security system. Hacker and Firewall both assured the Team the Hotel wouldn't know about the intrusion, due to the 'cycling protocol' that made the hacked system believe nothing was wrong. Still, Colton occasionally gave the laptop dedicated to that function a careful eye.

"Doesn't seem to be enjoying himself." Psyche-Out commented, watching Wildman keeping to himself near the fifth level railing while keeping watch for something.

"Any movement from the Dreadnoks?" Colton asked.

Psyche-Out turned to a smaller monitor near him. While a sort of 'respectful truce' existed between the Joes and Cobra's former 'Wild Bunch', due to the deliberate execution of one of their members in his prison cell by Cobra forces, there were strained moments. However, down with the partiers in the French Quarter, the Dreadnoks Torch, Ripper, Buzzer, and Thrasher were reportedly having a good time instead of hiding out in the Florida swamps.

"Still in the French Quarter, with all the other revelers." Psyche-Out said.

It gave Colton an odd feeling, truce or not, that he disliked. Then again, their former enemies were on the other side of the City, under the watch of special federal agents who had their identities down pat—so there shouldn't be much to worry about now.

Or would there be? Agents can be fooled; it wouldn't take too much to do it.

That was one possibility, while another was contained in the folder within reach.

Duke had been quite thoroughly in investigating Hawkern, and along the way discovered a common link in a lonely portion of Northern Montana where they all came from. There was more, but now watching Wildman took precedence.

While with in, he worried.

While on the outside, it appeared to be the upper most floor of the Penthouse Suite section. Within, that floor was a concealed hanger for a variety of small to medium sized craft. And what was currently there were vehicles so special they easily could out maneuver anything currently in existence, nor could they be connected to any known country, manufacturer, or any organization known in existence.

Case in point, the very unusual jet aircraft sitting in the center of this hanger—sitting on a risible platform.

As aircraft go, it was clearly a cargo carrier with its wide rectangular body and utilitarian appearance. Not exactly a heavy cargo carrier, or large, but one that could easily operate with in a restricted area much like a helicopter could. Its high mounted wings were broad, and it's double finned tail assembly sat high in the rear, much in the same way the cockpit did in the front over a stubby nose. But its engines were unusually placed; two each in a pod placed right at the wing tips that could swivel a perfect ninety degrees from back to forward. And concealed low along both sides of the aircraft's body, running two-thirds of its length, were two larger engines concealed within a billowy flange that ended at two, large, rotatable exhaust vents on each side.

It was more function than beauty, and well armed with weaponry pods attached under its wings--and being readied for flight.

In the shadow of its left wing, Lisa Hawkern sat in a metal folding chair at a metal folding table working away on a laptop computer much larger, slimmer, and more powerful than any currently available. With it, she watched the same view of Wildman that Colton worried over several floors below from several different views, as well as views of FBI Special Tactics Team, hiding in a disused office on the same floor Wildman was one, going over their oblivious plans not knowing. With a few deft keystrokes on the Laptop, that Hawkern had locked them inside the room without them even realizing it. In another, the Dreadnoks Ripper, Buzzer, Torch and Thrasher were applying their personal finishing touches to another group of Federal Agents down in the B3 Service Parking area, as planned, while Major Bludd watched it all with a delightful smile on his face.

_At least they're here._ Hawkern conceded, wincing at the carnage.

One panel in the lower left gave a view of the suite's living room the Joes were in, and the master bedroom's door was opened allowing her to see the back of General Colton. At least she knew where they were, since the hack job they did in there knocked the monitoring camera's off-line. Every now and then, she would glance at it and the others as well.

Hawkern was still in the single piece black body hugger from earlier, now augmented with ridged padded soft armor vestments covering her entire torso, shoulders and upper arms to the elbows, and legs down to the knees—which were given added protection by the heavy-duty combat boots she wore. The long gloves that rounded out that portion of her personal protection lay next to the Laptop, while the helmet, and the rest of her heavier gear, was onboard the Osprey-Jet being readied behind her.

In B3, Bludd handed Thrasher a cylinder while speaking with him. The big Dreadnok-driver nodded repeatedly while accepting it. Hawkern sat back, watching it all with impatience.

There should have been time for other options to be played, but there was none. A covert team was the best means of dealing with the matter, SecNine had many spies with in Cobra's ranks, especially on the island, but the fear of them being compromised ruled out any use of significant force—especially since Cobra Commander knew where everything was. Unfortunately, SecNine's people couldn't find it because none could get close enough to the man who was prepared for just about anything—namely assassination attempts. And with no willingness to expose themselves unnecessarily, that left the subtle approach; Wildman.

His return couldn't have come at a better time for them, or at a more desperate.

Now it was just a matter of Cobra making its moves to take it all to the next level. Growing with impatience while watching Bludd explaining things to Thrasher for the umpteenth time, Hawkern shared Wildman's frustration by wishing they'd just move it.

So engrossed in this, she failed to hear Ayers walk up behind her in his usual heavy footed fashion until he loomed over her…

"Anything?" He quietly asked;

Completely taken by surprise, she jumped out of fright and panic almost over turning the table and falling out of her seat—causing Ayers to quickly retreat.

"Sorrysorrysorry." He quickly said as Hawkern glared angrily at him.

"_Luckily I'm dry!!" _she exploded at him. _"I'd hate to haft to change at a time like this!!"_

As he helped her back into the seat, then straightened the table out, Hawkern was already regretting loosing her temper like that. It had been years since any real adventuring, and despite staying in excellent physical shape she feared her nerves were so frayed they couldn't keep the 'edge' their friend so desperately needed tonight.

"Donnie…"

He gently placed a gloved hand on her shoulder, smiling gently downward. "I haven't seen you jump like that since I accidently shocked you—"

"And I've hated ungrounded-wool ever since…Donnie, I'm sorry for yelling at you."

To see what she was seeing now, the always frowning, always foul-tempered Professor Donnie Thomas Ayers smiling gently upon her even while kneeling close, was a sight many considered impossible to occur. But she knew much more about the man before her than what he'd ever let on about in the outside world…

"Don't worry." He gently whispered to her. "We're together."

Hawkern closed her eyes, rolled her head till it was upon his gloved hand and sighed—wishing they were both far, far away.

Wildman was becoming impatient.

Colton found it interesting to watch, since the briefing file stated the man was known for his self-control and inner calm. Yet there he was sweeping the area with his glittering eyes and moving along the rail with looking intently for something, even tapping his foot in an impatient manner.

It was fascinating to watch, leaving Colton to wonder if they had inadvertently scared Cobra off.

When at that moment, the suite's front door was kicked in with a violent crash.

Neither Colton nor Psyche-Out had weapons ready, and both turned in time to see a beer-can sized cylinder with the blood-red Cobra emblem tumbling towards them in the air before it exploded in a brilliant white flash.

Generally speaking, the city of New Orleans is notably famous for one thing; Mardi Gras.

There are more historic and common facts that do make New Orleans famous. But it's that single event that highlights the fact that New Orleans knows how to throw the most extravagant parties, often with no rhyme or reason, pushes that fact to the tops of many lists. A birthday, throw a party. New car, throw a party…

New house, wife, job, television, radio…Party, party, party, party…

_End of the World?_

Throw the most massive Mother-of-All parties to enjoy life to the utmost, while at the same time throw all rules of common behavior right out the window—which was occurring within the City from the start of Meteor Madness. Fires raged unchecked in populated and unpopulated regions and industrial districts, gangs fought bloody turf battles over all manner of illegal vices, and people discovered religion at street corners.

And, of course, they partied.

The one occurring at the Tower Continental was a more open affair that had more confidence in the discovery of a solution to the Madness than most parties did. A costumed affair that left nearly every section of the Mall awash in gaudiness, loud noise, and jammed with people doing there best to hope for a real future. From the highest floor that was partially spared from the crowds Wildman looked down upon it all in silent agreement that human nature could never be explained despites science's best efforts to.

The musing did keep his mind open. For the past two hours, he'd been wondering all over the third floor of the southern Mall waiting for word or a sign from the Cobra operatives he soon expected to take him away.

So far—nothing.

Dressed in stylish black demin with his extremely long hair now tied back in an orderly fashioned and expertly knotted ponytail, Wildman was a highly noticeable figure listening to the righteous sounds of authentic New Orleans jazz, played without care to the present situation—as it always has been-- floating up from the bottom-most floor to where he was standing at the third floor railing. Partiers who passed him by figured he was some Goth lost in his own thoughts, and left him alone where he was. There was nothing that could be farther from the truth, though it would be very difficult to explain how…

Hawkern was keeping him informed by sendings; yes Cobra was here, but they were messing about down in the parking lot, she telepathically sent. It was hard for him not to do something out of frustration at that, despite the public around him...

Patience was a discipline his father taught him long and hard about as he molded him into the man he was today, until he knew all its aspects by heart and the ways it could be quickly squelched with no loss of time. Those very methods kept him grounded during times of high intensity save for that one very horrible time…Plus, Wildman himself had to reflect upon the irony of receiving her sendings after having blocked them for so many years. Radio's, either implanted or the micro-sized ones that could hide in a person's ear weren't possible to use due to chance of the signal being intercepted.

And Lisa wasn't being sexually provocative as she was.

_{Maybe if you moved around more.}_

_{Bludd's instructions were to stay where I am up here…Is he doing anything?}_

Major Bludd himself told Wildman during that last call that they would be there for him, just wait up there on that highest floor and we'll fetch you once things are clear enough for us to do so. How that was intended to be done, Bludd would never say. Even after confirming his identity, Cobra wasn't willingly rushing to take up his offer of joining their organization—even with SecNine's agents pulling every string they could.

_{He's still talking with that galoot, Thrasher.} _Lisa hurriedly sent back. _{Apparently, the Dreadnok doesn't understand how to use a grenade.}_

That was the trouble with trying to do things on very short notice while planning along the way; do too much too soon, it'll just collapses regardless of how tempting the bait was. And curse the rules, he inwardly fumed, it was better to go up and blast Devronique from the sky. Or challenge him to long delayed duel.

_{KIM!}_

"Excuse me?"

Wildman, startled, jumped and quickly turned around. She was a beautiful young woman with bone-white hair shaped in a pageboy style that just touched the bottom of her jaw, coca colored skin and a left eye that was a darker blue than the right. Her face was heart-shaped and accented by her soft cheekbones and pointed chin, and a snub slightly upturned nose was an excellent accompaniment to her face. Wildman quickly caught all of this before she jumped back, startled by his sudden movement.

For the moment, he was simply lost for words.

"I'm sorry." She hurriedly stammered out while blinking fearfully. "You looked like you could use some company…If you wanted to be left alone…"

"No—no, it's not that." He too stammered out in surprise, while trying to smile assumingly. His mind told him, from the sound of her accent, that she was British. Unfortunately, it was too stuck to do anything else but dwell on that fact for several moments until he forced it out of the shock. And all the while, she stood there cringing like a child expecting serious punishment.

"I'm…sorry. I…was…expecting someone." He slowly spoke to her. "And they're…terribly late…Are you alright?"

She didn't cringe as much then, but she was till expecting some sort of backlash.

"I'm sorry to have frightened you like that." Wildman apologized with earnest, finding himself focusing upon her so much that the world around them didn't matter so much. She was a leggy, but well proportioned young woman, almost like Lisa but a tad thinner in the waist, wearing a modest amount of make-up and jewelry, just shy a foot shorter that he was, dressed in a powder-blue evening gown that could be considered very risky because it consisted of a simple yet elegant wrapping of cloth around the majority of her upper body before spiraling down to form a tube skirt that was slit open from her power-blue high heeled shoes to the waist, though covered by a wide belt, exposing a more than fair view of her blue panty hosed right leg.

Wildman was simply left wondering.

"Actually," she nervously smiled, "I should be the one to apologize. It's a very bad habit of mine, sneaking up on people and unintentionally startling them like that. My parents have been getting on to me about that for some time."

Wildman simply took in her beauty. It had been a very long time since doing such…Or feeling in such a manner…

And then it occurred to him, _She might be it._

"You did say, _'excuse me'_." Wildman smiled back.

The scene played itself out on the main screen of Lisa Hawkern's laptop, many hundreds of feet above. The attractive dark skinned woman appealed strongly to her notorious promiscuousness nature, especially in that gown she wore. But there was also an odd, nagging feeling that she couldn't quite place about the woman. Every time it came up, her lustful nature would put it down.

Maybe later she'd sit down and concentrate on why it nagged her so. Donnie didn't stop her from enjoying herself as she did, so she took several screen shots of her for later self-amusement—and commandeered several other surveillance cameras for other views and even more screen shots, getting several tight body and facial shots with the automatic functions…

And that nagging feeling would return.

Then she noticed the screen showing Parking Garage B3; Major Bludd was just now stepping into the service elevator.

_Too much of a coincidence_, Hawkern realized, things were now moving to a head.

Ayers, behind her, noticed as well.

"Problems?"

Hawkern didn't turn away from the screen.

"Get ready." She said.

19


	6. Chapter 6

Five.

Angel.

Her name was Angelica. She freely gave it out to him, along with what her parents called her, _Angel._

"It's fitting." Wildman smiled, causing her to blush.

They were walking along the portion of corridor that was largely given over to office space, and fewer partiers milling about. She was leading and he following, leaving him more than sure that she was the contact. And how perfect it was, really; in the crowds below, many of Cobra's top operatives could pass completely unnoticed as they would be assumed to be costumed partiers.

And Angel was so _captivating_; he hadn't felt this attached to anyone, let alone a female, like that in years.

"I came to New Orleans for the excitement. "She explained as the continued along the way, "I've always read about it, so I figured I should go experience it…before the World ends…"

"Are you so certain that it will end?" Wildman responded.

Angel sighed with a sad expression upon her lovely face. "It's like this everywhere; riots, destruction, insanity. I used to believe that people had much more resolve than this."

"People can be surprising." Wildman smiled back, largely in an effort to boaster her spirits. By then, there were the only ones for yards around.

"In deed they are…Doctor." Angel coyly smiled back.

The pressure with in him was quickly replaced by the light feeling of relief. But there was something he had to tell her…

"I've been waiting for over two hours-"

"_Fine. _Next time I haft to go through a crowd like that, I'll make my way with an assault rifle!" she bitterly hissed back. "I got felt up by a few of the natives down there, and came quite close to shooting a few more!"

The burst of anger was justifiable, making Wildman instantly regret his earlier complaint. And Angel herself was of the same mind, because she too realized what a foolish thing loosing her temper like that was—and looked very apologetic to him.

"I'm sorry…about that." She quietly said.

Wildman, himself not looking much better, took a step towards her. "I was worried, and I was scared…Really, it was stupid of me to complain…I had no ideal what you had to go through to find me."

Then he gently took her by the arm. "But since you're here, there's no need to wait any longer…"

And Angel smiled back.

Hawkern was ready to leap from her chair, proclaiming "_Contact!", _but constantly had to keep her in check with the reminder that things could be different from what they seem. That possibility kept her in place, and rapidly typing out commands on the keyboard that allowed her access to many different systems in that area of the Mall…

Yet, there was Major Bludd, entering the service corridor from the elevator, before entering Office 5-12 from the service corridor—which was directly in front of Wildman and the girl.

Hawkern kept her fingers mentally crossed as Ayers watched events from over her shoulder.

Then she shouted, "_Hey!"_

The Federals whom she locked in the office, that Wildman and the girl were now passing, earlier, had somehow managed to breech the door and were tumbling out in force towards the two. Wildman didn't waste time; once he figured what was happening, he quickly swept the girl up in his arms and sprinted away. But the Federals had come prepared with net launchers and taser weapons, which they quickly brought to bear just as Hawkern's mind finally snapped back into action—bringing the ceiling mounted fire suppression systems into play. The frothy onslaught of fire retardant caught the Federals by complete surprise, knocking them down and their aim off from the pressure and keeping them from even standing in the slippery mess that iodinated them.

"Move…_Move!_" Hawkern urged Wildman, now moving in a crouching zigzag with the girl franticly wiggling in his arms…

Then the door ahead of them opened, and Bludd stepped through with a sneer on his flat face and a silenced pistol in his hand. Wildman cut sharply to the left as the one-eyed Cobra agent fired his pistol. Hawkern couldn't swivel the camera around to see who, only that Wildman suddenly darted into the room spoiling any more shooting.

With a balanced spin, Wildman kicked the door close before Bludd could reach it.

"Major Bludd, I presume?" Wildman quickly asked.

Bludd was equal in height, dressed in more casual attire that wouldn't be noticed on a golf course, with shorter hair slightly disturbed in the front with his eye patch covering his right eye. But his grin was more of a sneer, especially towards Angel.

"Well, your certainly one who doesn't waste time, Doctor Wildman." Bludd remarked. "Due follow…There's a lift waiting."

Bludd lead the way through the security lit office to the back, where the service corridor was, and from there a short distance to the service elevator that was waiting for them with doors open. Once there, Wildman finally allowed Angel to stand while Bludd punched the proper button to send them downward.

"That was eventful." Wildman smiled to Angel.

Angel didn't say anything.

"Quite eventful, Doctor." Bludd said as he turned to them, with his pistol leveled at Angel. "I must admire your taste in women, Doctor. But I must tell you that you have the worst luck to snag that one."

Angel glared angrily when Wildman gazed back at her wondering, _did I make a mistake?_

"This little bird is simply too well connected with our enemies. She'll haft to go, I'm afraid."

From the way he smiled, Bludd was going to enjoy killing Angel right there in the elevator. So Wildman stepped between Bludd's pistol and Angel, facing her with his hands on her shoulders.

"Doctor!" Bludd rankled.

"You're not with Cobra?" Wildman asked Angel with earnest disbelief.

She just glared at him. "Get a clue, Doctor!" She angrily rasped while trying to shake his hands off. "We're trying to keep you out of their hands!"

"But I was so certain you were…" Wildman sadly lamented, his glittering eyes on the verge of tears. "You acted so—"

"Come off it you Sod!" Bludd thundered from behind. "Now stand aside!"

But in the moment following his hand grabbing Wildman's right shoulder, Bludd was quickly brought down by Wildman delivering a vicious chop to his crotch with his right hand while turning—then clamping his left hand to the right side of Bludd's neck at the shoulder. The one eyed mercenary simply fell straight down to a heap on the floor at Wildman's feet and laid there without making a sound. Moving quickly, Wildman brought out from his jacket a small flat metal case that contained tiny, preloaded syringes. He pressed one against Bludd's neck, quickly emptying its contents before placing it back in the case.

"He dead?" Angel asked in surprise.

"No. But he'll sleep for a day." Wildman simply replied as he put the case back in his jacket. "And out of our hair."

"Mind giving yourself a dose then, Doctor?"

Wildman didn't move fast, nor appear all that surprised to see the small handgun that Angel pointed down at him, smiling. "It'll make you more manageable, if you don't mind."

"Well sadly, I do." He pointedly said right back. "Because soon, we'll be arriving where there are more just like him. And it wouldn't look too good with you stranding over our forms with gun in hand. So stay close to me."

"This is going to end right here and now, Doctor." Angel firmly replied.

"If it does, it will be the end of the World—for real. But not in the way that you'd think."

A bell chimed for the sixth time, and the indicator on the wall told them they were now in the Underground Garage area.

"Your choice." Wildman told her.

Angel stood, gun aimed at his head, with anger draining from her. Nervously, her fingers twitched while holding the gun.

"You can help me by making it easier on yourself." She gently said.

Wildman considered things only for a moment, then, with near blinding speed, he snatched the small pistol right out of Angel's grasp before she could even react.

"I must get to Cobra Island." He gently told her, while rising to his feet with Bludd's handgun as well. "There's more at stake than you realize…Or would believe."

Angel just glared at him with vile indignity.

Wildman composed himself.

"That wasn't a meteor that crashed in the Gulf." He told her. "It was something… else."

_{Careful Kim.} _Hawkern's sending crossed his mind.

"Really? What was it suppose to be," Angel angrily snapped back, "a spaceship?"

He blinked, quite surprised by that. "You're very intuitive."

But she just glared.

_{Oh man.} _Sent Hawkern again.

_{Will you please let me handle this?} _Wildman sent back. "I did not know who you really were. Wildman hurriedly explained. "I assumed that you were with Cobra, and that was my mistake."

"La-la" Angel sarcastically replied.

Now Wildman frowned. "You're not really helping your cause very much." He countered.

As she was left to muse over that, Wildman turned, picking Bludd off of the floor and setting the man across his shoulders in a fireman's carry without much effort on his part. Then he turned to face Angel with his glittering eyes narrowed in warning. "Now please stay close, and don't cause any trouble."

There was, for the moment, the urge to say a good many very unladylike things back at Wildman. But Angel started realizing that he wasn't acting as a defector, or so her Father, himself an ex-spy, had taught. First off, she too would have been laid out on the floor with Bludd. Standing between her and Bludd, when the latter wanted to shoot her, was another tell-tale sign along with his current behavior. Yes, definitely odd…But how far, she wondered, could he be trusted…

"Alright." She definitely stated. "But, what assurances do I have that you won't betray me?"

Another _ding_ from the elevator. One more floor to go and Wildman appeared to be caught amongst many things going through his mind at once.

Then, he handed both pistols to Angel. That was an answer she wasn't prepared for.

"I assure you that I am not really defecting to Cobra." He directly told her. "I am, in fact, going there to find something that'll advert a disaster. You may trust me, or don't…It's your choice."

Now Angel looked at him as if her were insane.

"Are you trusting me to shoot you in the back?"

"I don't see any other way of gaining your trust." Wildman simply said.

Madness, Angel quickly thought absolute madness. Her orders were either try preventing Wildman from reaching Cobra Island, or killing him outright—and there he was handing her the weapons to do just that! In those moments, she didn't know what to really do.

Meanwhile, the elevator was starting to slow down, as they always do before stopping.

It made everything very clear to her…

"Right, fine!" Angel snapped, taking the pistols from Wildman. "Don't you dare lie to me, or you're dead! Is that clear?"

Wildman quietly nodded.

_{Good luck, Kim.) _Hawkern mentally sent.

For safety's sake, General Colton had devised a check in schedule where all active team members at the party could call in and check for updates while also indicating they were still active. Five minutes before, Duke called in. After receiving no response, and deducing it wasn't equipment failure, he took initiative and mobilized his team to get Wildman. At that point, Duke wasn't at all concerned with Wildman's civil liberties being grossly violated. Orders were orders; Wildman wasn't going to Cobra—period.

But getting to the target was difficult enough. Duke had gone through jungles and forests before, but the plants never cursed or shoved back at him as he made his way across the short distance of floor to the stairs up to the balcony where Wildman was. A fire retardant soaked pile of struggling Federal Agents, being shot at by an overly gleeful Major Bludd from an open doorway that Wildman was running towards with someone struggling in his arms, wasn't a good sign at all. With one solid leap, he was in the action while drawing his pistol—but not fast enough to bring it into play.

Bludd saw him and aimed. Duke knew he could dodge the shot and return with one of his own, possibly hitting the leering mercenary. But he knew Bludd's shot would hit an innocent partier if he did that. So Duke deliberately to the hit in the chest, where his body armor stopped the bullet from fatally injuring him.

The impact took his breath away and made his whole chest ache painfully.

But it wasn't as bad as rising up to see Wildman was gone.

Many floors above, Hawkern let out a loud whoop; "That's it! Kim's on his way!"

"Give him a way to get out." Ayers quickly to her. "Lock the rest out."

As her fingers flew across the keyboard, Ayers turned to the Osprey-Jet, yelling; "Fire her up, TOM!"

A slow growling whine started from the crafts jet engines as Hawkern finished the last command. She then scooped up the laptop and bounded into the jet through its side entrance, while Ayers kicked the table and chair off of the platform as it rose upward before joining her inside.

Ripper chugged down the bottle of Grape soda, swallowed, then, moments later, produced a loud monstrously rude belch that echoed throughout the underground parking lot. Of course, not merely satisfied with the nods and toothy smiles from his fellow Dreadnoks, Ripper then aimed the empty soda bottle at a nearby parked panel van and scored a direct hit upon the drivers side window fracturing the safety glass.

"BULLS-EYE!!" He proudly shouted with muscular arms raised high in triumph.

"Lucky…" His fellow Dreadnok, Buzzer, sourly comment. "Watch this throw."

It's easily said that there's nothing worse than members of a vicious Motorcycle Gang with nothing to do. Especially, if it was the Dreadnoks. Hailing from every vile place on Earth, these motley bikers were among Cobra's more 'specialized' groups within its organization—specializing in outright mayhem, wonton destruction, terror, intimidation, and even brutal murder if the ideal occurred to them. What made it even more frightening was the simple fact they'd do those very things anyway even if they weren't apart of Cobra, the only difference was the fact Cobra paid them much better to do those things anyway. Bored and alone was another matter altogether.

Of course, such a group would demand the attentions of a leader who made it quite clear that his word was law; break it and die horribly.

Zartan was such a leader; cold-blooded and calculating, with the ability to move invisibly anywhere and disguise himself to be anyone, a highly intelligent tactician to dispensed with words and simply acted directly and brutally—even towards his own siblings when their actions recently endangered the entire organization. He was the perfect person to keep such a wide-ranging gang in line, and did so very efficiently.

But after the climatic fall of Cobra, he vanished to who knows where--becoming another mystery among many others. And afterward, the Dreadnoks were largely sedate, seemingly sitting out in there various holds or performing the usual odd job to maintain a line of funding. Meteor Madness changed all of that, at least for those who came with Major Bludd to New Orleans. Sitting in the swamp around the camp fire while there was still time to cause some real honest-to-Jesus mayhem didn't really appeal much to Buzzer, Ripper, Torch and Thrasher. Hang the money Bludd offered them to 'assist' him on this venture. It was nice, but what they really wanted was to go out with as big a bang as possible—and maybe take most of the city with them when they did. Bludd didn't really care either, so there was some mutual understanding.

Nor did they sit around for very long after Bludd took Thrasher up with him after a lengthily, and repeated, explanation of how a Stun Grenade worked. While that held their attention, they were set upon by a squad of Federal Agents, emerging from the very van which was now the target of numerous soda bottles being thrown by Ripper and Buzzer. The Feds believed they were well protected in their armored vests, and figured they could use the element of surprise to quickly subdue the whole group without a single shot being fired. When they did with guns in hand, Torch gave them a good burst from his flame-thrower while Ripper and Buzzer tore into the group with their preferred weapons; a giant diamond-edged bayonet and diamond-tooth power saw.

It didn't take very long for the Federal Agents to become a smoldering pile of severed body parts laying along side their van. And the only regrets the Dreadnoks had been that it didn't take all that long to do it.

Buzzer lifted his arm, sighting in on the fractured window while gripping the bottle by its neck, when the service elevator arrived with a ding and both Angle and Wildman, carrying Bludd, rushed out.

"_Move!!" _ Wildman commandingly yelled. _"They're close behind!!"_

Buzzer, suddenly surprised, dropped his bottle and turned as the rest there did.

Seeing Bludd being carried unnerved them even more. That is until they noticed Angel. It was Ripper who got to her first, quickly reaching out with a muscular arm to snare her with a sneer on his bearded face and a cheap line read on his lips—only to have Wildman dump an unconscious Bludd right into his arms.

"There's no time for that!" Wildman glared at the surprised Dreadnok. _"We gotta go!!"_

Angel noticed Wildman twisting and pressing portions of his giant wristwatch's outer casing as he did that. She also figured his shock-value had very little life left in it before the thugs started becoming wise, that made her curse for not shooting him in the elevator—she could've dealt with the Dreadnoks in the same manner with a gun in each hand. The mighty roar of an engine, echoing and growing in volume throughout the parking area, broke her away from those thoughts. It grew steadily in the shadows to their right, then exploding backwards into view with a squeal of tires before them. Angel instantly believed it to be a vintage Bentley-six sports car in all it's bright chrome and dark-blue embodied glory come sliding to a stop, spin completely around, then shift it's tires a perfect Ninety degrees and move sideways right to Wildman's feet before turning straight again—with no one at its controls. Looking at it again, Angel noted that the vehicle was more low-slung with modern mag-wheels, leather bucket seats and a robust dashboard with all the modern conveniences of a modern automobile.

Then Wildman slung an arm around her and briskly escorted her to the roadsters' front left seat, before vaulting over the long hood to the drivers' side where he paused glancing astonishedly at the Dreadnoks'. They were simply standing there with looks of disbelief frozen on their faces.

"_Will you get moving!!!"_ Wildman exploded with genuine rage. _"I need to know where to go!!!"_

That broke the spell, and the Dreadnoks clamored towards the car. Bludd was simply dumped into the rear seat with Ripper and Buzzer climbing on top of him, and Torch hopped onto the left side running board next to Angel as Wildman slipped the revving car into first gear…

"Hey! 'Era comes Thrasher!" Torch suddenly yelled.

Wildman caught the car from stalling out by quickly slamming the clutch, and Angel could hear him swear hotly under his breath. Then something was unceremoniously dumped into the rear seat, mush to Buzzer's dismay, and there was Thrasher, all boyishly handsome with wild hair and a delightful smile on his face, looking at the car.

"Nice car." He delightfully squeaked. "I'm driving."

He started forward before being grabbed from behind and pulled onto the right side running board, protesting the entire way.

"_Go!"_ Torch roared.

And with a squeal of tires, they did.

17


	7. Chapter 7

Six.

Escape.

Things had been dull until ten minutes ago when Duke put the entire team on alert. Gung-ho, Alpine, Dusty and Bazooka were all sitting on edge in a non-descript sedan outside one of the entrances to the underground parking garage waiting for further word from the First Sergeant. They were keeping to themselves, especially the mountaineer Alpine, who was obliviously thinking of his Family at this time and wanting to be with them. Gung-ho, seated at the wheel, on the other hand, was gripping the steering wheel with continuous amounts of force. The big Cajun Marine was never one for waiting, especially when things were serious and his teammates in possible need of help.

Dusty and Bazooka exchanged worried looks in the backseat when seeing that. It was Dusty who moved forward to point out to Gung-ho that if he didn't relax he was going to break the steering wheel, when a gradually increasing roar, coming from the mouth of the garage entrance, caught their attention--a car with a high-powered engine was coming out at high speed. Which meant only one thing…Unless; it was a partier deciding to leave early…

That answer soon came when they all saw Wildman's roadster launch itself out of the exit ramp to land perfectly on all four wheels, as Torch and Thrasher hung on for dear life on the left side.

"A-bout time!" roared Gung-ho with a wide smile as he fired the engine to life. "I was getting' tired of sittin'!"

The car launched itself forward once the marine set the gear and slammed his foot down on the accelerator, glancing off of three parked cars on the way to give chase.

_ "What in Hell are you people doing here? This is a Federal Operation, not a Military one!!"_

The Leader of the fire retardant soaked team, covered from head to toe in a frothy cream whip, was the typical college kid who made his rank not through grunt work but because he knew the right people. He promptly latched onto Duke with a vengeance when the Joe Team's First Sergeant identified himself.

_"You are in direct violation of Federal statutes by interfering with this operation, and interfering with Federal officer in the performance of their duties!!" _The Leader went on. _"I will have both you and your Team court marshaled and hung out to dry as an example!!"_

_ And this is the thanks I get for trying to help them out,_ Duke sourly though. He could also say a few more things to the Fed like the fact that he was so far off in his assertions that he'd might as well be standing on the far side of the Moon for all they were worth. Anything else would not only blister the skin right off the kid, but get Duke into real trouble—and not ease the sting of Wildman's escape.

And there were bigger things to worry about, like the fire extinguishers. He didn't operate them, and he knew Hacker and Firewall were lucky just to tap undetected into the video surveillance network of the Hotel. Anything else would have had them evicted from the site, and Colton wasn't willing to risk that happening. Given all the trouble they've had with Hotel Management since arriving, it didn't take much imagination on Duke's part to piece together the possibility that Wildman had arranged for such things to occur so to escape.

_Really cool, really slick_, Duke had to admit to himself. But bringing charges against the place wouldn't be worth it on a gut feeling that had no form or evidence to support it.

Then his cell phone started vibrating.

"Excuse me." He told the flustered Fed. Then walked away while drawing the phone from his jacket.

"Hello"

It was Alpine, and he was yelling. _"Dreadnoks heading out of the Center on some fancy wheels…Wildman's with them."_

"They have Wildman prisoner?" Duke worried, but there was some hope that everything wasn't for not.

_"Looks like he's driving the car, Duke"_

"Wildman!? _Give me that phone!" _The Leader quickly rushed up from behind to snatch Duke's phone away from him, but Duke shifted the phone to his other hand, grabbed the angry Fed and promptly flipped him right onto an unoccupied party table--which collapsed with a resounding crash.

_"What was that?"_

"Fed Tossing." Duke quickly told him. "Now stay on their tail! Back-up's on the way!"

And Duke left the Fed moaning amongst the wreckage.

There wasn't any state highway patrol or any local police patrols on the highway, but the journey on the throughway was very short as Buzzer directed Wildman to get off at the first exit—which dropped them right into New Orleans proper.

"Don't worry, Gov'" the chainsaw wielding Dreadnok told him. "I's knows exactly where I's going. But could you's slow down a bit there?"

Not that Wildman was about to complain about it, nor was Angel while discreetly trying to assess the damage to her evening gown to avoid any more troubles—while giving the door mirror the occasional eye. Not that she could see anything behind them well enough to discern who it was, due to Torch's body always getting in the way. And the headlights of a persistently following car blocked out any identifying traits of who was driving it.

Nor was she the only one who spotted it.

"Hey, Gov!" Thrasher called over the wind. "Make a turn down that street commin' up."

"That's not the way to the Commander." Buzzer sourly whined at him. But Thrasher's attention was elsewhere.

"I wanna see somethin'" He frowned.

When Wildman made the turn as requested, the car behind them suddenly sped up. And by then, everyone was certain.

"Hang on!" Wildman yelled. The Bentley lunged forward with a roar of power, causing many in and on the car to desperately cling to it for fear of falling out onto the road. That wasn't the only thing the car was capable of. Built into the back of the large steering wheel were numerous special function buttons Wildman knew about, each one when pressed would enable the Bentley to perform a specific feat or defend the vehicle itself. He pressed the middle button on the right underside, and quickly darted the car onto another street in such a way that by rights it should have either skidded out of control, or flip over repeatedly until crashing into something immoveable, from all of the unbalanced weight on its body. Instead it stayed on its wheels with little skidding or sliding. The Joes' weren't so lucky in their car; though built to handle a high-speed chase, it could only do so in the hands of an experienced driver—which Gung-ho was anything but. Try as he may, the Bentley kept moving further and further away from them, until it darted around one corner and vanished by the time they reached it. And all Gung-ho could do was curse while smashing his fist into the dashboard, repeatedly.

Wildman kept up the sharp turns for a couple of more blocks until satisfied their pursuer was shaken, and slowed the Bentley down much to the relief of many.

"G…Good." Buzzer slurred, very green in the face. "They're…gone."

Now though, they were well off the path they wanted to be on. With another button command, Wildman displayed a computerized city map on the inside of the Bentley's windshield. But getting back to that path took much more effort, largely due to encounters with numerous groups carrying on violently, or drunkenly, without a care of what they did to what, or anyone, around them.

Sometimes, Wildman was able to avoid and outrun such groups who responded with hurtled insults and what they could find to throw at their escaping forms. Other times, the crowds were just able to reach out and brush both car and its occupants—either by trying to climb on it or pull people from the car as it raced past. Wildman countered by releasing tear-gas from ejectors built into the running boards, while the Dreadnoks simply used their weapons on any with in reach or range. And, there were those who shot back at them—or anything that moved in their general area. For the most part, owing to intoxication, their shots usually went wild. But there were the few that whizzed very close to their heads or hit the body of the car with resounding thuds.

But at one intersection, there was an massive crowd of several hundred absolutely violently wild people that completely blocked the way through with burning vehicles and their sheer numbers, having what could only be seen as a massive fight. Wildman slid the Bentley to a halt and started reversing as the crowd started surging towards them in mass, delighted at the prospect of smashing up something nice and new with people inside they could hurt all they want. The Dreadnoks shot down the faster once of the mob, but the rest were undeterred and fought back with hurtled bricks, car parts, and anything else that would hurt at the retreating Bentley. Scoring many hits upon its Dreadnok occupants.

_"OW! BLOODY HELL!!" _Ripper squalled after a car's accelerators peddle bounced off his head. _"GIT US OUTTA HERE!!!"_

So Wildman gripped the steering wheel, with thumbs pressing on the inside portion now, and pulled up slightly. The Bentley shot straight up into the air a good twenty feet, surprising both the crowd and Dreadnoks in the car, and flew off over the crowd and the blocked intersection before they could regain their wits to attack. They kept that why for some distance from the area before Wildman gently lowered them back to the street.

"Blimey!" Thrasher exclaimed in absolute amazement.

But Wildman didn't say anything; he just accelerated the car until they were far away from the area.

As much as it blew to do so, Alpine would have called in their failure to capture Wildman. What made it worse to be the bearer of bad news was the fact that none of the other Joe-Mobile units were able to help, having to deal with large groups of wild partiers that blocked up entire city streets that prevented them from helping with the chase—or finding themselves conveniently trapped by closed garage security doors back at the Continental.

Of course Gung-ho would have had a fit, but the mountaineer was in a No-BS mood as he reached for the microphone. Then, Dusty came up with an ideal; "They were turning at every intersection; right, left, right, left, right—"

"So?" Alpine flatly remarked, but Dusty had Gung-ho's and Bazooka's attention.

"If they think they've eluded us, they would have slowed down by now." The desert fighter explained. "I'm betting they turned left after that right turn we saw, if so, we might be able to catch up with them."

Alpine just frowned, Gung-ho, on the other hand, simply exploded with delight. "Excellent thinkin', Dusty!"

"Are you crazy?" Alpine scolded him. "There's no chance of us catching up with them—"

"And I aint about to call it quits either, _looser!" _Gung-ho roared back. "I'm not going to go crawlin' back on ma' belly to Duke a failure—_not just yet!"_

So, with gears grinding and the engine roaring, the small group went back over where Wildman could have gone—with Alpine chaffing all the way. Being called _looser _was an insult, especially by a fellow Joe, since all of the in the Team were expected to give what ever mission they were assigned to everything they had—including their lives if nessicarry—to complete. But chasing after a fancy car on the streets of a city embroiled in chaos, a car for all intentions was probably on the far side of the moon by now, an absolute waste of time. Alpine knew, as they all did, that if a mission didn't feel 'right' largely due to bad intelligence, no one would criticize them for bailing on it.

And as they drove on, Alpine was more and more ready to announce this as fact until they arrived in time to see the very car they were looking for float over the heads of an unruly mob.

"Dang." Gung-ho uttered, simply amazed by the sight, as they all were.

Alpine started eating his words, regretting all he said and thought about this mission being a waste. But a car with flying ability, that made things a lot harder to deal with than previously planned. Just like the crowd rushing towards them with evil in mind.

"Hey, Gung-ho…How about we head down that side street over there before we get trampled by that mob." He quickly pointed out.

Gung-ho easily complied, and soon they were, hopefully, driving parallel with the Roadster.

"Ok." The big marine started, "Anyone here have a suggestion as to what we do now? Dusty? Ba-zook? Alpine?"

Dusty was silent.

"Shoot them down?" Bazooka slowly drawled.

Alpine just shrugged.

"I guess we shoot em' down." Gung-ho said, and sent the car down a side street to the next boulevard where the Roadster was thought to be.

"Get ready!" he yelled.

The Roadster was only a half block ahead, but quickly started fleeing at the sight of pursuit.

"Oh no you don't" Gung-ho growled, reaching under the dashboard. There was a simple click, and suddenly the car shot forward as if launched by a rocket, nearly tailgating the Roadster before any of them regained their senses. Except for Gung-ho, who was grinning like a madman.

"Nitrous Oxide booster." He grinned. "They aint getting' away this time!"

With the boost, Gung-ho was able to keep up with the Roadster much better than the last time. But that was no compensation for the big marine's poor high-speed driving skills. During turns, the Joe's sedan often slammed or rubbed up against parked cars and building fronts because control would be lost enabling the Roadster to gain a minute lead before Gung-ho would bring them right back. Now Alpine started worrying on weather or not they'd survive the chase. Being dead with nothing to show for it due to teammates recklessness was an ultimate no-no in any book, and started telling Gung-ho that just as he made another sharp turn when something hit his side of the car while they were crossing the center of the street.

Whatever it was, kept them from crashing up against more parked cars—prompting Alpine to glance in the still usable door mirror just as their police scanner crackled to life, "This is Unit 037…Two maniacs smashed my bike. They are presently headed east on Highland; one a fancy rig and the other a wreck…You can't miss em!"

Alpine looked sickly at Gung-ho, just as Dusty moaned for the back seat, "Great going, Gung-ho."

"Units 033 and 095 heading on Whites Street to intercept." Crackled the radio scanner built into the Bentley's dashboard

"Hey! I thought there were no Peelers out tonight!" Exclaimed Ripper.

Wildman kept his thoughts on controlling his roadster amid the bedlam of wailing sirens, flashing lights and gunshots occurring all around them. Normal police wouldn't dream of engaging in wild Hollywood-style gunplay from moving vehicles while in such close quarters with them, but that wasn't his concern at the moment. With the press of the control buttons, he quickly darted onto a side street catching his pursuers seriously off guard. Some overshot the street, while others who could make the turn had to contend with Gung-ho's driving which sent several of them crashing into parked cars and building fronts. The Officers in the wrecks weren't too badly injured, thanks to the inbuilt safety equipment in their cars. But they vented over their radios, using language that would get them reprimanded to the point of full dismissal had these been normal times. Instantly their fellows responded, and manifested themselves as a swarm of police cars and motorcycles two blocks later in whose operators indiscriminately shot at both the Joes and the Bentley.

The Dreadnoks' responded in kind by firing back, but the Joes wouldn't have been allowed to under any circumstances. Bullet-proof glass and armored body panels kept them safe from the projectile hail directed at them, but even such things had their limits. Gung-ho quickly figured it up in his mind, and proceeded slamming the sedan viciously against any close enough police vehicles making them crash into whatever immoveable object was available or into each other.

_"What are you doing!!" _Alpine wailed in a voice far higher than normal.

"Getting Wildman!" Gung-ho thundered back. "_And nothings going to stand in my way!"_

The police cars around the Bentley suffered a different fate, largely from the colorless gas Wildman issued at them by pressing several more secret buttons. Once within the engine, the heat within caused that gas to solidify rapidly within the combustion chambers until it froze the engine completely. Wheezing and heaving, these police cars died right in the street blocking their unaffected fellows—who slammed right into them with breaks squealing. Not the Joes though; Gung-ho drove the sedan right onto the sidewalk avoiding the congestion while bashing up the car even more.

The Bentley darted right a cross their path, making Gung-ho curse that he wasn't moving faster so to smash right into them. But when entering the street hot on their heels, a devilish grin broke out across his wide face.

In the intersection before them was a massive parade float built like an old-fashioned brass bed with a wide staircase running from its base to its top. _The Church of the Perpetually Indulgent gladly welcomes you to one last fling!_ Read a large white banner stretched just below its top. And true to form, there were a goodly number of people climbing those stairs to do just that on the Float's massive bed with scantily clad 'church members' urging them on.

It also completely blocked up the whole intersection before them.

Yet the Bentley rocketed towards it.

"He's going to jump it!" Dusty yelled.

"Naw, the stairs would stop him!" Gung-ho yelled back, still grinning and slowing the sedan down.

"_I didn't mean it that way!" _Dusty desperately cried.

Gung-ho started shout back when he saw what Dusty alluded to; as they had witnessed earlier, the Bentley suddenly leaped into the air thirty feet before the intersection as if hitting an invisible ramp, climbing higher and higher to just skim over the heads of those at the top of the stairs and surprising those already frolicking on the bed before disappearing over the other side.

"Ohhhhh" was as far as Alpine got before Gung-ho uttered an explosive oath while slamming the accelerator to the floor. The Sedan hit the base of the stairs and managed to travel half way up before its weight compromised the Float's integrity, exploding through it in a shower of float portions, padding, discarded clothing and people in various stages of undress, to a violent landing on the other side. And that was it; all four tires exploded, body parts simply fell off, and the front windshield (already a mess of spider-web cracks) popped right out of its frame and shattered to the horrible rattling coming from the engine compartment. But the breaks still worked, though broadsiding the first of two Police cars in the next intersection was what finally stopped the car.

Of all of them, Gung-ho was still, and surprisingly, intact. Dusty and Bazooka were moaning painfully in the rear seat, while Alpine was seated upright with his goggles cock-eyed across his face which was frozen in a silent wide-eyed scream. He didn't respond at all, even after Gung-ho punched him in the arm as hard as he dared. Meanwhile, the second police car swung around to the other side of the Sedan. As its driver when to check on the condition if his fellows in the first Police car, his partner approached a raging Gung-ho with pistol ready.

All the big marine could think of at that moment was Wildman getting away, and that enraged him to the point where he was violently cursing his luck while smashing his fist into the now useless sedan's dashboard in complete frustration. He gave it his best, and what happened wasn't fair—and he wasn't the kind to loose.

Then he noticed the second Police car, sitting there with doors opened and engine running, only a short distance away—and started to believe in God once more. For there was no other way that he could think of at the moment, beyond divine intervention, of something that fortuitous occurring. Gung-ho didn't bother opening the door, he just shoved his hardest and it came right out of the frame flattening the second cop just as he was aiming his gun.

"Sorry, but I need to use your car—Government business!" He yelled, sprinting to the second Police car. And once in, he didn't bother closing the doors as he roared off.

Wildman easily knew the Bentley couldn't take much more. Though it's body was far better armored than any other vehicle of its similar class, it's Lifters were burnt out from the stress of carrying them over the top of that weird float, and most likely damaged upon landing in the way they did—not to mention all of it's numerous special defenses were either seriously damaged during the more intense moments of the chase or completely played out in the escape attempt. All he could hope for was to reach the Harbor District, where Buzzer finally told him was their final destination.

So far, as they could figure from the Police Scanner, there were no helicopters in the sky tracking their progress. And Wildman was really praying they wouldn't encounter any more Police.

But in the distance, approaching them quickly from behind was the unmistakable signs of a Police car…

While he couldn't believe his luck, Gung-ho couldn't believe he'd lost his personal radio. Duke had personally given them out to each member of the Team the direct means of contacting him, General Colton, or any other member of the New Orleans detail should the need arise. And for the life of him, Gung-ho couldn't recall where or when he had it last, caused him much aggravation—as would the dressing down he'd receive over loosing it…

And far worse if Wildman escaped.

In the long minutes after taking the Police car, Gung-ho worried like he never had. What if Wildman had escaped, he feared, taking a street he' just drove past. Many times, something fought the urge to turn back and investigate—_what if he didn't think anyone was following him?_

It was possible, just like the last time when he'd caught up with them at that mob.

And they would have seen him wreck. It certainly made enough noise.

And, after those long minutes passed, the distinctive taillight assembly of that Roadster was seen just entering the Harbor district filling him with sheer delight.

Now, he had to call it in. There were several options, even using pay-phones or 'borrowing' a civilian's cell phone. Gung-ho could easily use both, but the closest thing in reach was the Police radio mounted just where the normal radio would be in a normal civilian car, and those weren't allowable. Even though there was a Police Scanner back at the 'base', the Police considered their radio frequencies _their _domain, and that had to be respected even in these circumstances. There was the chance of inadvertently involving innocent bystanders, local civic government, and the media including the Police in what was a secretive operation they really were better off not knowing anything about.

But he had no other means of communication. He gritted his teeth in frustration while grabbing the microphone.

"General Colton, this is Gung-ho…Please respond."

Well, that did it, he knew. And worse, the Roadster suddenly bolted away from him. But even as he chased the car around the wharf warehouses, he began to worry…_Why hasn't anyone responded?_

There was little time to really ponder things. They were now on the wide pier itself, racing towards the eastern end at full speed. Gung-ho had to marvel at the Roadster, all dented and pounded upon was still able to maintain a commanding lead despite all that had occurred to it.

He was also wondering if it was going to fly again, as they were fast approaching the end of the pier itself. Then the Roadster literally spun about, charging at him with its powerful headlights blinding him…

And then they were gone, leaving large bring spots before Gung-ho's eyes—and soaring off the pier before it registered in his mind.

Wildman skidded the Bentley to a halt and turned in time to see the water plume from the impact collapsing upon itself some thirty feet from the pier's edge. He wanted to run back, to see if their pursuer managed to escape.

"That's 'opefully _that!_" Buzzer fitfully remarked, still slightly green in the face from the night's adventure. "Comm'on back, Doc…We're almost…home."

Wildman forced himself to resist running. _The Mission_, he made himself remember, forcing himself back into the car, back behind the steering wheel and starting the car—while noting Angel's heated glare upon him.

"It's only a short distance…now." Buzzer continued.

"Hey Buzzer, you don't look so grand."

"Aw, shut-up…Ripper."

19


	8. Chapter 8

Seven.

Hydra.

It was now ten minutes past call in time. Stalker and Scarlett, in the first room of their 'barracks' on board the Dom Delilegos, were clearly worried.

"Make a call." She told him.

"Can't. It's not fifteen after." He replied, looking at his watch. "Those _were_ the General's orders.

And so they waited tensely. If not for Check-in, the majority of the Joes onboard the Dom Delilegos wouldn't have much to do; Deep Six and Lifeline were needed almost constantly, and Dial-Tone maintained the communications link with their teammates on the mainland, leaving the rest to keep an eye on what was occurring onboard the giant ship—when not taking turns with the radio whenever Dial-Tone rested or took a walk around the ship himself. Right now, he was sleeping in the next room with Leatherneck.

Eventually their watches clicked off the remaining minutes, and Stalker took the microphone in his hand.

"DDJoe phoning home…DDJoe phoning home…Anyone up?"

Then they waited. Five seconds. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. One entire minute…

Nothing.

"Power failure?" Scarlett was simply perplexed staring at the communications system.

"Dial-Tone and Sparks built this baby with plenty of skill, brains and TLC." Stalker frowned while examining the radio's monitors. "Personally, I believe there's nothing wrong with it."

"But there's no hiss, no static." Scarlett pointed out.

"I know…Get Dial-Tone."

They occupied a three room cabin while on-board. One for business, the other set aside as a barracks—while the third was the bath. Each was connected to the other by bulkhead doors between themselves and the outside corridor. Resting, the Joe Communications expert would be with Leatherneck. But when Scarlett entered the second room, there were only six empty bunks.

_"Stalker!"_

He was there in an instant, and just as fast took in everything. His dark, swarthy face hardened at once.

"That does it!" he hissed through gritted teeth, before heading for the outside exit with Scarlett following close behind. To hell with the UN's rules, this was simply too much. He wanted answers, and wanted them _now_. But when he grabbed the opening lever, the electrical jot that hit him knocked him backwards into Scarlett and both of them to the floor.

Tori Yukinama received the telepathic sending from Lisa Hawkern, detailing Wildman making contact with Cobra and their estimated time of arrival. Her response, silent and curt, told that quieting the guests was well on its way. And when done, Yukinama was left very much relieved.

She never cared much at all for Hawkern. Just thinking about that flirtatious whore filled the ordered Yukinama with revulsion. Her wonton display of flesh and lewd behavior, that signified her portion of the Adult entertainment industry, made her the focus of many a sexual fantasy. But by Yukinama's own thinking, Hawkern nothing more than a blatant insult to all of them—including her family. But being Wildman's closest friend, both she and her husband, Ayers, had to be tolerated.

Fortunately, conversations with her didn't need to be lengthy. And up to this point, seated in he proper command chair in the Dom Delilegos' command center gently sipping green tea while keeping watch over the long rang radar, that had been the only blight she had to concern herself with. Then Ms Candy, with her ever present computer clipboard, approached.

"Captian." She asked. "Would you examine these readings?"

She was too the point, and a little worried. That, to Yukinama, meant trouble.

"What are they from?" She asked, setting aside her tea.

"Doctor Hydra. They were taken a short time ago."

The clipboard computer was a thin board of a device the same size as a standard clipboard, but more powerful than most high-end laptop computers and much easier to carry as well. Finger strokes on the key portion of its front face brought up readings involving the electronic low frequency waves surrounding Cobra's Chief Scientist, which Candy was referring to, were identical to the ELF being used to sedate the unwanted guests onboard ship. Yukinama was simply amazed by the discovery.

Then concerned.

"Where is he?" she asked, rising from the chair.

"Main Lab." Candy briskly answered. "I've four S-F's—"

The ship suddenly lurched upwardly with the deep throbbing sound of a kettle drum being struck, repeatedly. Alarms started going off, and the panic boards, which showed electronic images of the Delilegos from every conceivable angle, showed red spots around the bows and various points along the hull and even in the Main Laboratory.

The controllers at their stations went instantly into action, sealing off the damaged areas from the rest of the ship by activating the watertight bulkheads, then proceeded to assess the immediate damage as even more explosions occurred in and around the ship. After one near-by explosion the lights dimmed in the command center, and some of the control boards went dead. All the while, Yukinama was literally beside herself trying to figure out how it all could have happened. Too much was on the line for both the Joes and Cobra to act that stupidly…

_Hydra. _It hit with the full force of a powerful storm.

_But why? _ She wondered all the way down stairwells jammed with Security and Engineering crews dealing with both damage and injured crew, and security doors closed shut due to the down power connections that needed to be forced open manually to reach the Main Lab. And while doing so, the sooner it began to occur to her, forming a picture in her mind of something that should have been considered long before now. Of course, she tried dismissing it, even as she forced her way into the ruins of the Main Lab. The blast there had occurred in the center of the room. An oblong burn mark there was all too oblivious, between the remains of heavy work tables that were apart of the metal floor itself literally bent over from the blast. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, the remains of combat boots, melted and burned around that blast mark could be seen. As could the mangled remains of two others lying against the walls on opposite sides relative to the blast point. Medics and Techs pushed past her as they entered the room, and even as she yelled; _"Search this ship for Hydra! Set Persuaders to 'Counter'—I want him alive!!"_

It took a full five minutes for Stalker to reorganize himself from the shock, though the explosions and following alarms did help speed things along.

"Peace mission my ass!" He grumbled as Scarlett helped him off the floor. "Sounds like a small war's going on."

"So who jazzed that door with several thousand volts then?" Scarlett remarked. "Cobra?"

"If is, it'll explain a lot." Stalker, getting stronger, commented. "And we're screwed just the same."

The Joes didn't have much to work with. But then, they weren't slouches when it came to improvising weapons. As Stalker started smashing the table the radio set was on, after moving it to the floor, to use it's stout legs as clubs, Scarlett worked on cutting the canvas of the cots into strips with her fingernails—then worked the metal tubing of the cot's frames into improvised daggers by bending the longer sections until they broke then smashing down the broken ends with the heels of her boots before wrapping the ends with the canvas strips.

When she entered the main room, Stalker was working on opening the hatch by carefully wrapping his shirt around the lever before slowly turning it. No shocks this time, but they were greeted by the sharp smell of ozone, smoke and hurrying crewmembers who didn't pay them much attention.

"Now what?" Scarlett asked.

"You still have your personal radio?" Stalker asked. When she indicated that she had such by tapping a pouch pocket on her belt, Stalker continued, "Try getting up topside, and sent Colton a message about what's going on here."

"And what exactly are you going to be doing?" Scarlett wondered.

"Asking Doctor Yukinama some very pointed questions." He remarked before slipping away.

It felt bad to ditch a good teammate, but Stalker knew they'd stand a better chance if they separated. Scarlett wasn't a push-over as she appeared, as many found out most painfully. She'd succeed in getting the word out that Stalker could bank on. For him, now, it was a matter of avoiding capture. Sure, a stout table leg made a good weapon, and he wasn't at all afraid to use it. But being only one man in the middle of chaos, he knew the odds of succeeding would be more in his favor if he performed more evasion and hiding than outright confrontation. And these hideaways gave him an excellent means of seeing what really went on, especially concerning the number of injured being carried. Any attack on this ship he knew would be an act of war, but all Stalker saw of the injured were ship's crew—no Joe or Cobra personal.

Slipping away down several more ways, placed him near the Command Center, as he figured. But he ran into Dr. Hydra, standing musingly in the middle of the corridor, dressed as he was still in his fashionable white clothes.

"Out for a stroll?" The Cobra Scientist quipped with a sly smile.

And Hydra didn't appear at all frightened that he was armed. In fact, he eyed his surroundings with oblivious distaste. "Rather droll here, don't you think?" he frowned.

Standing there, Stalker knew he could kill the man with one blow from his table leg. He'd done much worse in his days of running wild as a street gang warlord in Chicago. But Stalker resisted the urge to do it, no matter how strongly he felt towards this enemy. A prison cell was the best place for such vermin.

"If you don't mind, I have somewhere I'd like to be." Stalker growled, gripping his chair leg menacingly.

"Really? Like the ship's Command Center?"

"If Dr. Yukinama is there." He growled back, before realizing what his answer was.

"Oh she is, she is." Hydra bobbed his head excitedly. "With all that's going on, where else would she be?"

_Where else in deed_, Stalker figured as well…Then he started wondering why Hydra was becoming so agreeable.

"She's quite desperate, you see." Hydra continued. "This disaster I caused has really put her plans back quite a ways…"

"P…lans?" Stalker was finding it hard to speak and think. Nor could he move at all.

"Why yes. The very ones I've ruined by making both the Cobra's and your teammates to perform suicide attacks upon vital section of this ship with the explosives I've smuggled on board." Hydra smiled sincerely. "I must say, it has made my task extremely easy."

For a fleeting moment, Stalker realized he was in a trap. And that was it; he stood there overcome by Hydra's tie-pin Persuader with a slack expression on his face.

"Shocks." Hydra chuckled. "They helped speed things along by keeping you off balance. Of all the Joes, I personally figured you would be the one to give me the most trouble due to your level of intelligence. But Cobra Commander really isn't all that much different from you in that aspect, and your both highly intelligent humans.

"However, since you are on your way to the Command Center," he said while reaching into a lower side pocket of his jacket, "there is something I'd like you to do for me."

Yukinama didn't hold any illusions about Hydra being quickly found. She had that bad feeling deep in her stomach that he was long gone by the time the first explosions occurred, seeing that he had plenty of time to do what he did. And how he did it was something even she should have been prepared for. Though they did stop the Joes he infected from carrying out their bombings, the Cobra's and UN Officials weren't so fortunate. Maybe one or two might survive, it depended on things.

Automatic systems and quick action by the Command crew kept the Delilegos from sinking or suffering worse than it already was. The bows of both pontoons were flooded, and ballast compartments along the body were damaged along with main propulsion—leaving them a sitting duck for anyone to investigate. Not impossible to quickly repair, but what burned the worse was that most of the special equipment they intended to use was damaged, due to water contamination, or destroyed my small explosives set in just the right spot.

As Commander of the mission, it would be she who'd have to explain everything…Especially to Lord Hawkern, in person.

Yukinama wasn't the kind who believed in miracles. But as she equipped herself with weapons, she certainly wanted one to happen so badly.

What Yukinama got instead was Lifeline waiting outside the door of her cabin.

He was poised at the door to knock when Yukinama opened it. She recovered first from the surprise, and with an icy, "Excuse me.', quickly slipped past and down the corridor.

By nature, the Joe Team's medic was an ardent pacifist, very unusual amongst the usual rough-and-tumble member of the Joes since he would never defend himself with a weapon of any kind no matter the situation. Yet, none of his teammate could ever refute the fact that no matter how nasty things got in a battle, Lifeline would always be there tending to their wounds without whine or complaint. And, as Yukinama found out, he could also be very hard to brush off for he was following her closely as he made het way down the corridor.

"Several crewmembers dead, many more injured—and then there's—"

"Hydra did it." she cut Lifeline short. "We're looking for him now."

"I can see that." Lifeline swiftly returned. "As I can also see weaponry that's not even suppose to be on board this ship. And, I cannot find any of my team."

Yukinama's blood was close to boiling as she had enough things to deal with already. The Command Center through was close enough. Yukinama knew she could duck into there and be rid of him, because by the terms of the agreement he wasn't allowed in there. The door was right there, opened nice and wide…

She started in, only to stop at its threshold.

"Greetings Doctor…Lifeline." It was Stalker, standing the Command Center as large as life and grinning…While holding a demolition charge in his hand.

Scarlett figured five minutes to reach the top of the antenna nest, located to the rear of the ship's command section. Being the highest place on the entire ship, it would also give her the best line of communication back to New Orleans. It would also be the last place for anyone to be looking for her, at least for a time.

The mini-radio was foolproof; the size of a small Cellphone and easy to use even on the darkest of nights. And she kept her voice low, but just above a whisper.

"This is DDJoe phoning home…DDJoe phoning home…We've had a disaster, come in."

No answer.

Keeping her cool was necessary, panic had no place now. But she gave herself a few seconds to calm down before trying again.

"This is DDJoe…Home, please, come in."

And still nothing.

Scarlett kept at it, even as the searchers drew nearer.

Lifeline simply couldn't believe it. "Stalker? What's going on?"

"Special Security Directive from the United Nations Security Council, Lifeline." Stalker officially told the Team Medic. "You'll be fully briefed upon the arrival of the UN Security Team. But for now, please disarm Dr. Yukinama. I wouldn't want any harm coming to her before she's interrogated."

_{What's going on?} _Yukinama telepathically sent to Candy.

_{He simply walked in.} _Candyresponded in the same manner. _{That charge he's holding isn't one of ours…its Devronique's.}_

Yukinama's blood went cold, as Lifeline struggled to make sense of the situation. "Now wait a minute…You said the UN ordered this?"

"Yes, Lifeline, they did." Stalker understandingly nodded. "I know it's a shock, but there's more than just what was going on between us and Cobra…Industrial exploitation, is what they called it."

Stalker then faced a fuming Yukinama, and continued, "The Exploratory Society planned this whole thing out from the start. They already knew about the Meteor's properties, and had affected a cure well in advance which they were intending to sell to the highest bidder. All they were doing here was scamming us under the false pretenses of a joint investigation."

Lifeline just stood, quietly taking it all in with his face hardening.

_{Can you Taser him?} _Yukinama sent out to Candy.

_{Easily.} _ Candy responded. _{But the Medic is seeing through his friend's story.}_

Yukinama glanced at Lifeline, and noticed that fact.

"There was no time, we had to act quickly." Stalker concluded.

"The UN ordered the taking of this ship?" Lifeline pressed.

"Yes, they did." Stalker stressed. "Look, it'll all be explained once they get—"

"I though the Exploratory Society was more than willing to come out here on their own, because the UN couldn't get past all the red tape they were generating." Lifeline cut in. "They never once entered into any agreement with the UN, or Cobra, or us, because they weren't going to sit around waiting."

Stalker blinked in surprise, "Lifeline…Hey, wait a minute."

_{When they are fixed on each other, attack!} _Yukinama sent to all of the ships crew. It didn't take long for all of them to answer in likewise fashion.

"And," Lifeline continued, "Was it also their ideal for us to commit suicide by blowing up the ship?"

Stalker struggled for an answer. But try as he may, he couldn't find one.

"And you said the UN called?" Lifeline added. "When?"

Stalker quickly regained himself. "Thirty minutes ago. Everyone got the message."

"Not me." Lifeline frowned. "Dial-Tone stated this ship wasn't a Faraday cage, so we could hear any message sent to us, or send one out without any trouble."

"Your radio must have been off…"

"It was on Stalker…It's always on. You know I'm not that careless."

Stalker seemed confused by what Lifeline just told him. No, he was right; he wouldn't have turned his radio off. That would have been stupid to do, and Lifeline was never one who did stupid things. In fact, radio checks was something they all did as precaution.

Candy was moving slowly towards Stalker from behind. Command Center tech's with silently shifting themselves from their station chairs, all intently staring at the faltering Stalker.

"Where did you get that bomb your holding?" Lifeline then asked, pointing out the device Stalker held in his hand. At first, Stalker just stared at him dumbly. Then slowly looked down at the device he held in his hand. He couldn't fathom where it came from, or how he even came to have it in his hands…It was nothing he recognized.

That's when Ms. Candy slipped quickly up, pressing her small taser pen against the back of Stalker's thigh, causing his entire body to go ridged. Then the techs jumped upon him, quickly removing the explosive from his hands before rendering it inert by first shutting off the devices' power then separating detonator from explosive. They were done in moments, and Ms Candy removed the taser from Stalker's thigh letting him then collapse to the floor.

Lifeline frowned, and started towards him.

"He'll be fine in an hour." Yukinama told him, but Lifeline didn't stop.

She then aimed the oversized face of her watch towards the Medic's receding figure, and turned it on.

16


	9. Chapter 9

Eight.

Cobra Commander.

The small life-boat was easy to handle, and soon Dr. Hydra found himself far away from the damaged Dom Delilegos on a southward course for Cobra Island with a smile of smug self-satisfaction on his fleshy face. Even if that ship didn't sink, Hydra knew there was no way they could launch a successful mission against Cobra forces. And if they were able to overcome the damage to their equipment, then the various roach-programs he left behind in their systems should tie things up even further in his favor.

And then there was the UN. Right about now, they should be getting worried over the lack of communication with their fellows onboard the Delilegos—if their observers back on the American mainland didn't notice the multiple smoke trails rising up from the ship. They would soon start calling to demand an explanation. Hydra had to smile at that; there was nobody else who could tie things up even worse with questions, investigations and classic bureaucracy than the United Nations. They could instantly snarl up Hawkern's pathetic rescue operation long before it could ever be mounted.

For such a worthless organization, mused Hydra, they did have some usefulness—if manipulated in the right manner. He always took the prudent approach of having a degree of latitude whenever great failure was possible, priding himself on being careful on avoiding the unexpected. But even the unexpected had its own cleaver way of striking back, and did so in the form of Kimball Clarke Wildman.

His unexpected appearance almost derailed Hydra's plans, especially with Wildman started making overtures to Cobra which Cobra Commander carefully dealt with, despite Hydra's attempts to dissuade him from accepting—even to go as far as to submit him to the Persuader in an effort to stall things just long enough. And it would have worked, except his own master, Lord Devronique, herd about this and charged Hydra with the additional duty of eliminating Wildman—promising tremendous wealth upon success as well as the ruining of Hawkern's plans. A tremendous sum that even he couldn't resist, but it was dependent upon Cobra Commander's state of mind upon meeting Wildman. The Commander was a very sharp man, had to be to have built such an organization literally from nothing. Even he questioned Wildman's earnestly about joining without the Persuader's influence…

But this was not the time to speculate on things. Now was the time to act while the advantage to do so remained.

It was only a short distance away, a couple of mere turns from the dock leading Wildman to a non-descriptive warehouse in need of a fresh coat of paint.

"This is Buzzer." The Dreadnok spoke into a radio. "We've got the goods…And a little extra."

Angel's face took on a bitter gaze at that, just before an unmistakable voice responded, _"Good…Very good…Stand by for just a moment."_

_Cobra Commander._

The only outward sign of tension in Wildman was in how he tightly gripped the steering wheel, otherwise, he appeared relieved—which only made Angel hate him more.

With a mechanical rumble, the warehouse doors slowly parted to the side. One they seemed wide enough apart, Wildman simply drove right into the darkness within without being told to. Once completely passed the threshold, the doors stopped their parting and started drawing together in closing until they were in total darkness.

Then the bright lights came on, revealing a company of Crimson Guardsmen surrounding the car with weapons leveled upon it and its occupants.

"Doctor Wildman, I presume."

The voice, and finally the person, emerged from the deep shadows to the left. He was wearing his 'battle dress'; the distinctive mirror-faced helmet of deep blue, that completely covered the entire face and underlying jaw, the double breasted, high-collared Prussian military uniform with gloves, also in deep blue, but his wellington boots were black. Ramrod straight, Cobra Commander approached the Bentley with a perfect military stride stopping before Wildman with an extended hand. "For a while, even I had doubts that you'd make it." He openly confessed while shaking hands with Wildman. "New Orleans isn't altogether safe these days."

"Certainly." Wildman smiled.

"I'm glad you agree, Doctor." Cobra Commander nodded. "This very car yours fits the description of one that was involved in a great deal of recent mayhem."

He paused, lingering on the roadster. It's battered form reflecting on the Commander's faceplate. "Either a Bentley Six or an early Aston Martian, it's hard to tell from all the damage it suffered."

"I built it myself a long time ago." Wildman still smiled.

"From armored materials, no doubt." Cobra Commander pointed out.

"I figured on trouble." Wildman simply replied.

"And definitely found it." Angel injected, after stepping around from the passenger side of the car to stand next to a bemused Wildman.

The only way to tell how much Angel's appearance surprised Cobra Commander was in how he moved his body, since his face was completely covered by the mirrored faceplate of his helmet. It was one of those subtle jerks, as if he's touched a metal door handle after unknowingly built up a charge of static electricity, but no exclamations uttered. She had a more approachable face now, for which Wildman was very grateful.

"This is Angel." Wildman introduced her. "I'm sorry for any inconvenience she may cause—"

"Oh, there's no inconvenience at all, Doctor." Cobra Commander cooed as he stepped forward, only to stop quite suddenly again in shock. What caused this was displayed poorly upon his faceplate, making both Wildman and Angel turn to look themselves. The Dreadnoks had already pulled Bludd from the backseat, much to Buzzer's relief, and were now taking out a second unconscious form…

It was General Colton, much worse for wear.

"We picked 'em up from the mess we made of the Joey's command center." Thrasher grinned. "Though he'd make a wonderful addition."

Cobra Commander overcame his surprise to simply ask, "Is he dead?"

The Dreadnoks paused, with Colton half out of the Bentley. "Would you like 'em to be?" Buzzer asked. "It wouldn't take too much—"

"No, no. At least not now anyway." Cobra Commander shook his head, then slowly started rubbing his hands. "Actually, he would make an excellent addition to this evening."

Angel chanced a sideways glance at Wildman during this…

He was in shock.

Having to deal with the Feds was the least of Duke's worries. Oh they screamed, howled, cried and pulled his hair while threatening him with every imaginable punishment and damnation, both legal and highly illegal. But there were worst things to deal with; everybody down in the garage were stymied by the security gates closing off all vehicle access to the outside. Joe squad machine-gunner Rock-n-Roll reported that their command center had been royally trashed. Psyche-Out had been found, badly injured in the mess, but General Colton was no where to be found. Gung-ho's group wasn't responding at all, but there was some local yokel from the city police department making repeated demands to know what was going on—or they wouldn't be releasing three Joes anytime soon, the very three who were with Gung-ho. Duke quickly dispatched a team into the area, and they reported back block long scenes of massive vehicular carnage, a destroyed parade float that was once in the shape of a giant brass bed, scores of injured people, and scores more of ugly-looking cops looking for one very particular car…

Wildman's. And speaking of him, he was gone—long gone.

They'd failed, and failed big.

Duke quickly shut that line of though off. They still had a chance to win the day, but it would violate numerous UN Treaties, infuriate numerous politicians, and run the risk of raising the ire of the Pentagon. But they had their orders, and G.I. Joe wasn't going down without a fight.

The hell they weren't.

"Cutter!" Duke snapped into his radio. "Call the Team together…We're going to Cobra Island!"

Just as she had figured, there was no sign of Hydra on board. But a small pontoon boat was missing, and half of their needed equipment was in shambles.

Yukinama took it all with an angry curse under her breath.

All she could do was hope the engineers could cause a miracle to occur…

Or that Wildman's friends crashed. That would save her some humiliation…

But now, she wondered what to do about the Joes on board. All of them were under a Persuader-induced catatonic state in the special hold, with the remaining UN Officials. Simplicity demanded disposal, but without witnesses who weren't part of the crew and tale was bound to be picked at until it eventually fell apart. And cold-blooded murder was only the action of the last resort, because dead bodies had the habit of being really messy to both deal with and explain. That meant inducing them to accept lie, which they would then deliver as the truth…

_Doable_, Yukinama figured, and started putting one together. Unfortunately, right about then, the UN started calling…

In Mindbender's special cloning lab, there was a small section of wall, about the size of an old-fashioned telephone booth, dedicated to communications. A really elaborate, room sprawling device wasn't really necessary, and would have taken up room needed by far more important equipment. But what it lacked in size was easily made up by giving its operator the ability to listen in all of Cobra's special radio frequencies, namely the one's Cobra Commander always used.

"_This is Cobra-One. Repeat, Cobra-One to Cobra Control...Do you copy, Cobra Control?" _The Commander's unmistakable voice came from the speaker as if he himself was speaking in the room. Mindbender frowned while adjusting his glasses and seated stance.

"_Cobra Control here, Cobra-One." _Came a different voice. _"We are ready for your arrival."_

"_Excellent, Cobra Control. I have guests with me. Please have accommodations ready."_

"_Understood-"_

Mindbender shut the radio off, and slowly turned his chair towards the second cloning chamber in which was another man, a large muscular man with long black hair who was already vigorously flexing his muscles…

In preparedness for his birth.

They traveled to Cobra Island by special carrier jet that had been concealed in an adjoining warehouse just for that specific purpose. It was of modest size and similar to small executive aircraft that were perfect for short to moderate distance trips, and, according to Cobra Commander himself, completely undetectable to radar. Wildman simply smiled, appearing relieved that he was actually going to Cobra Island and recovered from the shock of seeing Colton pulled from his car--while Angel did her best to fake the same emotion. At least she really was once the Dreadnoks were sent on their way, with pay, and Colton, still unconscious, was dragged along in shackles to the plane.

Once underway, the Commander called ahead to make arrangements. And when finished, he rotated in his seat to face Wildman directly. "Well, Doctor, what you think of Cobra efficiency?" he asked.

Wildman simply smiled, "You're prepared for anything."

Behind them and wedged between two Crimson Guardsmen, Colton stirred slightly.

"And prepared is what I always am." Cobra Commander easily replied. "Cobra, as you know, is a world-wide organization with interests in numerous fields. But running it all flawlessly isn't as easy as it looks, from time to time, especially just recently, I was forced to deal with matters that nearly proved the end of me had it not been for carefully made planning that helped to overcome elements that were starting to damage the organization.

"We're also very fortunate that the nuclear device detonated on the Island wasn't a very big one. Not that finding a new place to establish a central headquarters would have been difficult, but such callousness occurring around heavily populated regions has only spurred my desires to make Cobra succeed in the Global Realm. But such decisions must be carefully weighed by me personally to avoid another disaster."

"But of course." Wildman perfectly said.

Angel stiffened a little.

"Indeed, Doctor, indeed." Cobra Commander slowly responded while slowly nodding his head. "So you understand why being careful is a necessity for me. And why I must ask about your reasons for wanting to join Cobra in the first place?"

Wildman didn't remain quiet for very long. With his hands resting in his lap, he modestly answered; "I desire the freedom to pursue whatever field of research that would be beneficial to all, instead of being forced into dealing with the unrealistic demands of officials who only see me a tool for their advancement."

Angel kept a small handgun in a special concealable holster strapped to her upper right thigh. It was easily reachable in her current arrangement; just quickly slip a hand under the dress and bring it out shooting. But Wildman's behavior made her hesitant, especially seeing how he was fiddling with the dial frame of his giant wrist watch. Even more so was the fact that if she shifted her head just slightly enough, the image would vanish and his attention would be shifted to the Commander in an unconscious manner.

This with what was spoken in the elevator made her start wondering.

"A good answer, considering what you escaped from, Doctor Wildman." Cobra Commander responded. "But, how can I be convinced that what you'd choose to pursue would be beneficial to Cobra's goals as a whole?"

"Cobra's success doesn't need to lay on one path and one path alone, Commander." Wildman stated without hesitation. "You have multiple venues which to choose from to achieve your success; you assistance with the Meteor Madness enquiry, for example, can gain you significant support just as easily as offering humanitarian aid and security forces to areas in constant strife—without the entangled bureaucracy of the United Nations that always stymies such efforts to a crawl,

"You sir have the means of actually uniting the World into an organized society that would benefit all, and not just the few. I can easily see problems that have defied the United Nations bureaucratic efforts for so many years become solved in less time with less trouble than they would be under the current plan of cooperating with usually corrupt governments and groups. You will not waste time worrying about International rights and laws; you will focus upon solving the problem and nothing more.

"I've longed to take such unbridled action, even while under the yoke at Warlock." Wildman began confessing. "But often found myself blocked by self-serving bureaucrats, who maintained their positions only by maintaining the conflict—and so I left. But now, with the World on the possible brink of horrible demise, it wouldn't surprise me at all if those very same self-serving officials aren't planning to exploit any success discovered for their benefit—even if it costs humanity and the world much as a result. An action I knew they were fully capable of and one which you would eliminate along with them, when you achieved your goals. A world set free of such desire is what I long to see, one that can become a possibility if I'm allowed to join."

"So," Cobra Commander spoke while slowly rubbing his hands together, "you feel that by joining Cobra, you can help with my dream?"

"You have built Cobra by tapping into the anger and frustration boiling away with in the hearts of men, which present bureaucracies have long denied existing—unless it's to their benefit." Wildman easily answered, to which Cobra Commander nodded agreeingly. "And I am tired of being considered an important tool of a corrupt organization, geared only towards its own greedy self-preservation at the expense of the rest of Humanity. I want to be free from that, and to free the world from it. It's the only way that Humanity can continue to exist."

As intelligent as he may be, Angel knew Wildman, despite sounding very earnest about what he was speaking about, wasn't much of a convincing speaker. Cobra Commander wasn't foolish enough to fall for all that buttering up Wildman gave him, but just on merits alone taking Wildman in would benefit the Commander greatly. Still there were too many things that needed answers, that's what kept he close to Wildman…He had all the answers.

"I admire your ability to reason things to the lowest common denominator, Doctor." Cobra Commander easily said to Wildman. "Such ability would make you an excellent assist to Cobra."

"I thank you, Commander." Wildman earnestly smiled in response.

And Angel started worrying; _what is really going on here?_

13


	10. Chapter 10

Nine.

Cobra Island.

List-Ticket rode worriedly over the Tomahawk helicopter he was flying. The twin-engined, twin rotored helicopter was the workhorse of the entire G.I. Joe Team, and could be outfitted in numerous ways to perform as necessary in the mission it was deployed in. But running both engines well in the red, even for a short period of time it took to fly from the Tower Continental Hotel to the Harbor, wasn't a requirement—it was dangerous. Duke wanted the whole team together for rapid deployment, and Lift-Ticket was just the man for the job. He just wished Duke would have a little more consideration for the limits of their equipment.

That wasn't on Duke's mind at the moment, back in the passenger compartment with the others. It was something much weightier to deal with.

"All of you now know of our failure to keep Cobra away from Wildman." He honestly began. "If such an event occurred, General Colton and I formulated a last-ditch option; we head to Cobra Island with the intention of either bringing back Wildman, or rendering him _'unusable'_ to Cobra."

Some of the Joes stirred in surprise, Duke was expecting that. But there was also some confusion as well.

"Render him _'unusable'_ to Cobra?" Heavy-vehicle operator, Cross-Country, piped up. "Just what in the heck does that mean?"

There was that certain silence that always comes before devastating news; totally dead and filled with dreaded anticipation. Before Duke could explain what he clearly knew was illegal in every sense of the term, Mercer, a former Cobra Viper with a heavy price on his head, turned to Cross-Country with his usual stone-cold expression and explained; "It means we kill him if we cannot bring him back."

"Pentagon cleared this…mission four hours ago, based largely on what they figured Wildman could do for Cobra." Duke explained to them all. "The Brass didn't want anything like that occurring. And gave the go in spite what the UN would say about it."

"That's probably why they approved it, Duke." Roadblock frowned, folding his massive arms across his equally massive chest, the Joe's giant heavy machine-gunner shot a withering look at Duke. "You know they're just dying for an excuse to shut us down—"

"And rebuild the Team in their image. Yes Roadblock, we're taking it in the shorts from all around." Duke quickly countered. "But, there's also a very good chance of us pulling this off without the UN ever knowing we were there. It's a slim chance, but a good chance…"

Then Duke glanced at them all crammed together in the compartment, before asking, "Now, how many of you want to go to Hell with me?"

They all simply stared back at him in shock.

"I'm not going to hold it against you if you want out." Duke then told them. "I have no right to make you undertake a mission that by all conceivable means is illegal—I want you all to know that."

By saying that, he put them all legally into the clear, while at the same time placed full responsibility upon his very shoulders. If things failed, he would be the one blamed in full, and none of the others would suffer as he would—and he knew it. But as the moments rolled by, the silence that followed made Duke become aware of one very important fact…

None of them were going to bail from this.

Dealing with the obnoxious UN Official had largely left her spent and her temperament in absolute disarray. Their observers to the north had spotted the smoke plumes rising from the more serious damaged area of the ship, and the call was to first see if things were alright, then second start insisting on sending an investigations team out to assess any damage to the ship from the 'unfortunate incompatibility of Cobra's specialized scientific equipment with the power systems onboard.'. On that, Yukinama had to repeatedly claim that there was no need for such a visit, since the Ship's engineering crew was well on its way towards solving the polarity problem that caused the explosions in the first place—and that such a visit would only delay the repair work.

Naturally, the UN Official didn't sound too terribly convinced that everything was alright despite all the assurances, and finally threats of pulling out of the area she threw at him. But he wasn't going to yield to anything until he was fully satisfied that there was no harm done to the mission, and he also advised her that if she did leave the area the ship would be forced to return and the study continued under full UN control. That and the demands to speak with the UN Representatives on board, most of whom were now dead from being suicide bombers, finally tipped Yukinama into using her personal Persuader unit on the official over the communications system. It was powerful enough, and so frustrated was she that she turned the strength up higher than it needed to be. By then, she really didn't care if the official's brains were fried. And that went for the other officials that called soon afterward.

After the fourth, and two news reporters, the calls stopped. Yukinama didn't think they'd just invite themselves on board, but posted guards with Persuader generators to be on the look out just the same.

And every now and then, Yukinama would glance at the small monitor near her command chair to see what the Joes were doing…

As if they could do anything; each strapped in separate chairs under the control of separate Persuader ELF system that sent their minds goodness knows where and out of Yukinama's hair. The occasional glance was voluntary on her part. Enough had already happened, and she had no desire to make it worse through inattentiveness.

Then Ms. Candy's face came on the viewer. _"We've gone through the ship,"_ she reported, _"there's no doubt that Hydra's long gone, and possibly on Cobra Island. But he did leave a few more things to remember him by."_

Yukinama winced inwardly, bracing for the worse. "What exactly?"

_"Slaver systems."_ Candy answered. _"There are enough of them planted throughout the ship to give us a real case of the fits. We're going to haft to comb over all our equipment for dormant eggs and active cockroaches before we can try using any of them…And then there's the vehicles. Quite a few show signs of—"_

"Root it all out, Candy. Just root it all out." Yukinama tiredly told her.

Ms. Candy took that as an order and quickly left, and the monitor once again showed the Joes in their imprisonment.

When viewed during landing approach, the newly rebuilt Cobra Command Complex was an impressive layout consisting of twelve small Inca-fashion zygotes surrounding a massive zygote of the same fashion, all in brilliant white ivory that reflected in the lights of hundreds of large spotlights set all around its several square mile perimeter surrounded by think jungle on all sides. But most impressive of all was the giant crimson hooded cobra head mounted atop the central pyramid that faced northward with its mouth fully open, while forever watching with sinisterly glowing yellow eyes.

But upon landing, it was oblivious that things weren't quite finished. Scaffolding and work crews were dominate in numerous areas, and crated equipment waited for use which was soon coming. Cobra Commander took it upon himself to show off the complex to Wildman, Angel, and a recently awakened, very disgruntled General Colton. As Wildman and Angel said the usual nice things, Colton gazed upon them with undeniable anger, as the Guardsmen prodded him along with the muzzles of their rifles.

"We're in the midst of remodeling." Cobra Commander explained. "Things have been rather hectic lately, do excuse the mess."

"After the UN finds out what's occurred, Commander, this mess will be the least of your worries." Colton coldly levels at the Commander, which earned him a very brutal shove from behind.

"What the United Nations' thinks, does, or says is really none of my concern at the moment, General." Cobra Commander curtly replied. "To be bluntly honest with you, Sir, your being here was an accident—a complete unforeseeable accident. Normally, the Dreadnoks would have simply killed you, but instead they were merciful for some unfathomable reason. I'll need to speak with whoever commands them at the moment when I find the time."

Cobra Commander stood before Colton in a contemplating manner, thinking things out quietly with a gloved hand right where his chin would be. "But, such an opportunity shouldn't be wasted so callously." He reflected, before turning to the Guardsmen. "Take him to the Brainwave Scrambler!" He ordered. "Tell the technicians to ready him for a 'treatment'."

As the Guardsmen started pushing the shuffling Colton away, Cobra Commander flippantly remarked to him, "It's certain to make a new man out of you."

"Charming." Growled Colton as he was pushed along.

"May I have a few last words with him?" Wildman then asked the Commander.

"I'm not going to have him executed, Doctor." Cobra Commander dryly replied. "I'm just going to…change how he considers things."

"I'd like him to understand something." Wildman insisted. "It may help…make things better."

Cobra Commander quietly regarded Wildman for a few moments, making Angel, watching near-by, wondered if things that had been built right up to that point were going to collapse due to the Commander's irritation over Wildman's innocent request. Then the Commander motioned to the Guardsmen to halt, saying crisply, "Very well. But keep it short, Doctor."

Wildman conveyed his thinks with a thankfully earnest smile and hurried nod before stepping away to face Colton, who continued to regard him with the utmost contempt imaginable.

"I mean you no ill will, General." Wildman earnestly began. "But after so many years of reflection, I do not want to ever find myself caged for the benefit of others desires—no matter what the reason."

Colton just glared back. "You contradict yourself, Doctor."

Wildman was quiet, in a sad sort of way, before gently responding, "Life is such, General. No hard feelings?"

Wildman held out his hand towards Colton in an honorable manner. Colton had plenty of hard feelings, and many harsher things to say to Wildman. But he was too decent a man to lower himself for the entertainment of his enemies, especially now, even as manacled as he was.

"None." Colton coolly stated, taking Wildman's hand into his own. And managed to keep his composure as he felt something move between Wildman's hand and his own, to nestle safely under the right manacle.

"I hope to see you soon." Wildman smiled.

The Tour, as it was, was a brief affair. There were areas not completed, areas that were off limits even to one of Wildman's caliber, and eventually various other organizational related matters that required Cobra Commander's immediate presence. That left it up to a single Crimson Guardsman to show them to their rooms, an apartment currently furnished only with the basic needs and left-over vinyl furnishing from the nineteen-seventies that overlooked the main courtyard of the Command Complex.

Not too impossible to deal with, Angel figured. At least the bed was comfortable enough to sit on, and she did watching Wildman pull various items from hidden compartments of the large duffle bag he managed to bring with him to Cobra Island.

Cobra Commander, Angel firmly decided, was a bore—a big egotistical bore who grossly over inflated not only his own importance but also Cobra's 'Grand Plan' for Humanity, as any wannabe tyrant would. But Wildman was still a mystery. It was oblivious now that he wasn't going to defect, that was easy enough to see occurring right before her—especially when he brought out of his bag the pair of large and quite menacing looking machine pistols, with respective holsters and munitions, that he quickly strapped on with haste.

That alone prompted her to do something that she'd wanted to for several hours…

"Mind if I ask you a question?" She asked.

Wildman paused, as he slipped items into his jacket, like an animal would when caught in the glare of a light.

"What's going on?"

He seemed completely unprepared for such a question, even if he realized such was going to be asked of him. Standing there mute and embarrassed, Angel could easily see he was quickly thinking up a response to say.

"It's…not going to be…that easy to explain." Wildman haltingly began. "You'd think I was…insane. But then, you did a very good job of guessing what it was all about back in the elevator. "

Angel blinked in surprise, and Wildman knew he should have said things differently to her. She sat, waiting quietly as he regained himself to speak. "I really should have said that differently." He gushed. "You're very perceptive, you know, either that or you're a very good guesser. Because by now you obliviously know I'm not joining Cobra, despite having very good reasons for doing so. I just hope Cobra Commander hasn't tumbled onto it as easily as you have."

As she sat there, Angel remembered that conversation in the service elevator—especially the part after he snatched her gun away from her…

_"That wasn't a meteor that crashed in the Gulf." _He had told her._ "It was something else."_

_ "Really? What was it suppose to be," _she had angrily snapped back_, "a spaceship?"_

Hewas visibly surprised by that.

Angel felt uneasy. It was all a simple snotty remark that had popped into her head, and she had blurted out in anger at him…Now, it was the only thing that could easily explain why he willfully risked their lives in coming to Cobra Island…

Wildman noticed that look, and himself came to a conclusion of his own. "I guess I'm going to have to show you." He quietly said, reaching for his watch.

Cobra Commander never considered himself to be a 'Peeping Tom', he was simply careful. Of course, he was clearly irritated by the Techno-Vipers inability to properly set up Wildman's apartment with the needed surveillance devices in time. He would need to rely upon the hallway security cameras, and what there was operating outside, to tell if they tried leaving—and nothing else. But the folder compiled by his Intelligence Staff was clearly a positive he could work with.

_Angelica "Angel' Drummond, 2__nd__ Lieutenant, Royal Air Force—currently on assignment with MI6 in New Orleans to retrieve Kimball Clarke Wildman. _It didn't take too much imagination on the Commander's part to put things together, but what was surprising was the daughter of an English nobleman, with deep ties with Britain's formidable Intelligence Service, being used in such a dangerous fashion. He considered the possible uses for her, just as he did for General Colton, but broke that chain of thought off to return to Wildman.

The great scientist came off as being a little too desperate, yet for the past twenty-two years foiled every attempt by the best intelligence agencies to eve n find him—a feat that not even the most wanted war criminals could never achieve, even with advanced planning. Cobra Commander deliberately stalled Wildman for a whole week just to see how truthful it all was; even sacrificing a mid-level courier just to see what would occur…

_And that car of his was simply too conveniently placed_, he reflected. _But why would he even return, and now of all times?_ That pestered him to no end.

But the more he worked with it, the more he started figuring that the timing of the Meteor and Wildman's return was simply too close to be accidental.

13


	11. Chapter 11

Ten.

Serpentor.

Hydra wished he had the time to change into something more suitable for treading through dense jungle growth. Not that it mattered that greatly; the mission would be over by dawn if all went well, and he would be rewarded quite handsomely by his true Master as a result. Still, Fleet Street suits weren't the wisest things to be wearing in a jungle since they tended to snag at every inconvenient time, and by the time he reached the Main Road that circled the Island not tailor would even attempt to mend the damage.

By his own specialized watched, he placed himself about one and a half miles from where Cobra Commander had hidden the goods, the location plus the essential pass codes for getting past the automated B.A.T. II guards he managed to get from the Commander with his Persuader before being sent to the Delilegos--and the ViroPack, nestled securely in a shirt pocket, was given to him personally by Lord Devronique himself before being returned to his place on Cobra Island. He hated Viropacks; they needed to be literally right on top of the target to be certain they were properly deployed, and they had the bad habit of spreading rapidly beyond the area of deployment which put him at a significant risk of exposure even with the antidote taken well in advance. But his Master gave him the Pack personally, it was what he decreed should be used instead of the typical gas, poisons, explosives, and firearms Hydra preferred using. And Hydra had to use it, especially if he felt like living a good long life afterward.

But it would all be over in an hour or so, he told himself. Over, done, finished…

And set out at a jog along the side of the road that offered the best coverage for hiding…

And ran right into the shock of his life. The pole that tripped him came out of the foliage before he realized it, and he fell sprawling to the soft ground where he was instantly pounced upon by numerous figures. The muzzles of silencers pressed against his head and back, and other shadowy figures emerged from the growth from the other side of the road ready with their own silenced weaponry directed at him.

"Most try something." A very chilling aristocratic voice chided from the darkness before him. "They either act defiantly, or plead for their miserable life."

With his implanted cyber-weapons, Hydra knew he could instant kill a score of these enemies before they could properly react. But there were many lingering in the darkness around him, silently poised and waiting for the order to attack, they he wouldn't be able to find in time before they started shooting at him…And if one of their shots hit the ViroPack…

"Or," the voice continued to mock from the darkness, "Are you waiting for something to happen?"

Hydra knew the odds were bad. But, if he could get them closer, he knew he'd stand a better chance. And that meant being predictable.

"I am Doctor Hydra!" He yelled into the darkness before him. "Chief Scientist of Cobra! I demand to know who you are!"

A soft chuckle came from the shadows before him; along with the sound of boots upon the ground told Hydra his bait had been taken. But what stepped out of those shadows was a man that Hydra wasn't prepared for; a tall, muscular in a form fitting green and gold outfit that resembled a giant cobra snake with a flowing crimson cape attached to his neck who leered down upon Hydra.

"Greetings, Doctor Hydra…_I am Serpentor!_"

Hydra often herd the name before, usually spoken by Cobra Commander in a low curse. So this was he who made the Commander so bitter, Hydra realized, but no matter to him. Many of his men were near enough for his weaponry.

But Serpentor raised his hand, "Mindbender, if you would."

_Mindbender _was another such cursed name. Hydra started putting together a quick plan of action in his mind…And suddenly became very passive.

The elevator trip down was agonizingly slow, so slow that it was surprising even to Colton himself that he was able to think out a plan of action that could win him his freedom. Then again, he wasn't by any means Snake-Eyes—a highly proficient ninja who could kill scores of heavily armed opponents with only his Katana, daggers, and bare hands…

But then again, Colton wasn't a feeble old man as his captors thought. He may not be a ninja, but he easily could use the heavy chains of his writs shackles as a weapon since the chain had enough play in it. One good swing to the base of the neck, or slip the chain around the neck of the nearest Guardsman then pull sharply back while twisting the head around, would eliminate one captor. Then it would become a matter of moving quickly, and using the dead Guardsman's body as a shield against attacks from the remaining Guardsman and the Viper running the elevator…

It would also probably get him killed too, no matter what Cobra Commander thought. His troops weren't about to allow a prisoner to beat them to death in an escape attempt, no matter how important the prisoner was to him. But it was better than getting one's brains fried into submission; Colton knew he'd die with some dignity. All he needed was to catch them all unaware at the right time.

And that appeared to occur as the elevator started slowing to a stop. _This had to be the floor_, Colton thought. _This is going to be it…_

He tensed…

And the two Guardsmen stepped right past the Viper, through the open doors, and turned back.

"Make sure he gets his attitude adjustment!" The first Guardsman barked at the Viper, in overly superior form while dropping the keys to the restraints on the floor next to the Viper's boots. "And don't screw it up!", while his companion simply gestured obscenely as the doors closed.

Colton had been the victim of more colorful insults in the past; including the finger he received just now, from more imaginative people. But he couldn't help but smile a little; now it was just him and a very put upon Viper, whose uniform looked as if it could fit him. So he simply stood, hoping that when the doors finally open there wouldn't be anyone around. He just pretended to be a soft, old General whose glory days were far behind him.

When the elevator halted with the doors opening to an empty corridor, Colton knew he had his chance.

"Move!" Shouted the Viper into his ear as he roughly grabbed him by his left arm shoving him forward. The lone guard didn't draw his pistol or any other weapon. Colton shuffled a step or two ahead, then quickly swung himself around striking the Viper at the base of his neck with the loose chain—who then crumpled to the floor. A knock-out blow, Colton debated finishing the Viper off right there to take his uniform but wondered where to hide the body. Freeing himself quickly from the restraints, he dragged the Viper out of the elevator and into a near-by storage room where he stripped the man of his uniform before placing the restraints on him before using his Army uniform to bind and gag the defeated Viper. The Cobra uniform was tight in some areas and loose in others, but would get him around under light scrutiny. Colton just made sure all his personal property was well hidden on his person before leaving the room, especially the object Wildman slipped him when they shook hands.

It was round, about the size of a dime but much thinner, and flesh colored. Colton had to feel for it on his wrist, otherwise he would have missed it all together. It didn't look like much at all, but Colton kept it hidden under the Viper's cheap wrist watch just in case.

They lay hidden in space on the Dark Side of the Moon, three hundred ships fully capable of delivering mass devastation upon command.

In his personal room, on board his supreme flagship, Lord Devronique relaxed before the giant hovering, highly detailed image of the Earth. _So far, so well_, he easily reason while brushing back a stray lock of hair from his thin, handsome face. Such a battle fleet in the territory of another House, hiding as it did within its own Persuader field, was more than an act of war—it actually invited it. But Devronique was confident, he knew Hawkern didn't have the nerve to send a fleet of his best after him—since the very act had the blessing of the House Council, and Hawkern wasn't about to defy those orders. And Persuader Field worked best when properly focused upon the minds of those it was directed upon. A sudden battle with all that debris floating around would be very hard for the earthbound natives to miss with their telescopes and other instruments, or explain.

He knew it…Hawkern knew it. But still took another sip of wine to calm himself.

In six hours, the long denied dream of his Father was about to become reality.

He would be arriving in grand, if not utterly shocking fashion, manner upon the Earth that not only would Hawkern's existence be exposed but utterly doomed—paving the way to unite _all _Houses under one undeniable rule…

_His._

Just that Merrimack had to do his job. And he'd better succeed, or he was dead.

When the moment Yukinama had been dreading occurred, thoughts of honorable suicide came to mind. At least it would have saved her from the humiliation of having to explain everything before Lisa Hawkern. However, Ayers noticed things as he was landing the Jet-Osprey on the aft deck. And they both headed straight for the Command Center for answers, which were given.

_"I thought you people made sure that something like this would not occur!" _Ayers just exploded. _"How in the hell could you have missed someone like Hydra? How could you have not known about him in the first place?"_

Lisa Hawkern stood next to her husband, saying nothing and not enjoying being there either. Had Yukinama noticed, it would have cheered her a little. Instead, she tried countering; "SS9 gave no such indication that trouble would be occurring from Cobra." She managed to hurriedly get out. "It was firmly believed that Devronique would attempt an attack upon the Delilegos with a small squad—"

_"One man is a Small Squad!! Or has that concept ever occurred to you people?"_

That, Yukinama had to admit to herself, was a valid point.

"So what's left?" Hawkern quietly asked.

Yukinama was so tempted not to answer. Even if they addressed one politely, Hawkern's type was never spoken to only spoken about as those of won tonic nature were condemned to be. Ayers glaring at her though made her forego that old social maxim. "Only half of our Jumper craft are usable, one will hopefully be flight ready soon. But all other support equipment is destroyed, and one quarter of our force is unusable."

Ayers looked ready to explode. Only a glance from Hawkern kept him in check long enough for Yukinama to finish. "The Ship's Systems took the brunt of it with Hydra-introduced rogues. Tech is doing it's best to flush them out, but many of our systems will need by-passes to function properly."

"You've hosed it." Ayers simply glared at her. "Really."

Yukinama did her best to hide the humiliation she was feeling. Perhaps it was possible, she quietly wondered, to beg for dismissal so to return to her compartment and commit _seppuku _in a quiet, dignified manner before anyone could guess. She started to speak, but Hawkern unknowingly cut her off, "Wonks could load up replacements, and have them here in under an hour."

Ayers considered for moments before concluding; "It will be our people piloting the PAS's, Nine's pilots wouldn't know how to work a 'primitive' system. But it will off-set the damage here." And then he turned to Yukinama, saying; "Get on the horn to your superiors. If you want this opt to succeed, we need direct permission to step in and help—no more excuses. Got it?"

Yukinama, cringing within, did.

It had been a very interesting hour.

As Mindbender reflected, only he and Serpentor were the only ones to hear all that Hydra said while under the influence of the portable Brainwave Scrambler. As for Hydra, he now lay slumped in the chair they strapped him into in an induced sleep.

"Are you certain that device is working properly?" Serpentor demanded.

Startled, Mindbender could only look at his large handgun-like Brainwave Scrambler in disbelief. "It is working properly, My Lord. There is no way that he could have lied—ever."

Serpentor had his doubts. Much of his cloned make-up wouldn't have believed a word of Hydra's story. But Mindbender was always sure of his equipment; it was his source of pride. Otherwise neither of them would be here. And quickly considering that, Serpentor came to an oblivious conclusion.

"We'll need to alter our plans…Move quicker than planned." He told Mindbender. "We'll also need a small band of warriors, who won't falter when the moment is upon them."

"The Night Creepers would be perfect." Mindbender instantly suggested, which made Serpentor smile.

"A few will do." He grinned. "And with Hydra's duplicate key, we'll achieve more than we've ever dreamed."

Try as Angel did, there really wasn't much she could say and 'I didn't realize' just didn't have the magnitude to over come the situation. But of course, what really could be said. It was a relief that he wasn't defecting to Cobra, but the reasons why he was on Cobra Island would be very hard to swallow let alone believe by anyone. So she sat there, quietly watching Wildman finish gathering his equipment. Really, it was all she could do at the moment.

Wildman was quiet as well as he worked, but there were times when he would pause and glance at Angel, sitting there woefully on the corner of the bed, to say something that would only die in his throat before embarrassedly returning to his work.

It wasn't for want; Angel wouldn't have minded talking—even if it was about the weather. At least something to break the heavy silence existing between them. But he would never dare speak in depth about his plans, and he also realized that she couldn't stay where she was. There was no way he'd make the same mistake twice, especially with an innocent.

"Now." He gently started peaking to her. "I need to find Cobra Commander to tell me where the Survivors are, and then find Colton. But first, I must find a safe place to hide you."

It was hoped by he that she would comply. Seeing the odds against them even staying together while traversing the Halls of the Cobra Command Complex as too high, Wildman acted as he did. Only to be startled when Angel shook her head.

"I'm coming with you." She gently, yet firmly, told him. "I'm not going to be sitting around waiting and worrying over you."

Wildman's face took on the look of one about to say 'No', and do so very loudly, when something kicked in the door to the apartment making him instantly sweep Angel up into a tight embrace just in time for several heavily armed Vipers to sweep into the bedroom and start rooting through the bathroom, under the bed and in the closets. It was oblivious why they were there, but what was that they completely ignored the objects of their search who were standing right at the foot of the bed.

Angel found it all too fascinating to be frightening or even unbecoming by the way Wildman held her close.

The Vipers continued searching the whole apartment for another two minutes before giving up and moving out. "Serpentor will have our heads if we fail him." One Viper cried.

Angel could feel Wildman tense at that name. It was the Cobra 'Emperor', a clone made up of history's most famous and infamous leaders. Now everything was literally up for grabs.

"Well," Angel whispered coyly into Wildman's ear, "I guess that settles that."

Serpentor fully intended to make his 'return' at exactly the stroke of midnight, but even he with his vast experiences knew that there was always something that could, and inevitably would, delay the best of plans. Normally, that would have thrown him into such a murderous rage the life of the messenger would certainly be forfeit just because they delivered such news. But in this case, the surprise, which did upset his plans, was a boon of incredible size delivered personally to him by fate. And that glorious feeling made him more cheerful than usual while leading his loyal troops towards the Command Complex—one hour ahead of schedule.

Naturally, it did cause problems in securing several areas. But Serpentor's troops did managed to perform their stated tasks in the rush, and Cobra Commander remained unaware of it all right up to the moment just before Serpentor burst into the Control Center with his heavily armed followers. Cobra Commander leaped to his feet in surprise, all activity with in the Center came to a halt.

"Greetings, Commander!" Serpentor boldly announced in an incredibly loud manner. "_I have returned!_"

Serpentor's forces prevented any of the technicians on duty from doing anything remotely defiant by quickly bringing their weapons to bear on them. As this occurred, several others dragged Cobra Commander down from his Command Position then forced him to kneel before the triumphant Serpentor.

"I certainly hope my return hasn't…_inconvenienced_ you in any way, Commander." Serpentor grandly mocked while stepping up to the prone Commander. "But I didn't feel it was really nessicarry to inform you of my coming, seeing how weak and sloppy you truly are. And besides, it makes it that much more easier to eliminate such detestable elements from the ranks—or wouldn't you say not?"

Serpentor's presence and humor were too abrasive on Cobra Commander, and once again that upstart cloned creation of Mindbender's was taking control of all his work. That more than anything was more than he could bear. "I dealt with you and Mindbender! Both of you are dead! _And will be again!!_"

"Yes, well _you tried_." Serpentor foppishly tormented him. "But being clones, it's in our nature to _return_."

And Cobra Commander went cold in side. One of the first things he ever did while rebuilding was to wipe out all of Mindbender's influences that he could, especially his genetic experiments. Now, he realized, he'd missed a spot.

"But now that I am back, I intend to stay for a very, very long time." Serpentor evilly down upon the prone Cobra Commander. "And do not expect help from any of your loyal troops, because I've seen to them before ever setting foot in here."

Then he paused, a sinister smile forming upon his flinty face as he playfully realized something. "Nor should you ever consider using the crash survivors as collateral for Edrailian help."

An odd sucking sound came from behind Cobra Commander's mirrored faceplate, which Serpentor could see himself smiling evilly in. "Yes," he hissed through white teeth. "_I know…Hydra is one…And Wild-"_

The sudden sound of warning claxtons going off interrupted and enraged Serpentor, causing him to lash out, "_WHAT IS IT!!"_

Technicians scrambled to find out, and it fell upon one in the far left corner to announce, "There's an illegal intrusion in the Northern Gulf perimeter!"

_"WELL DESTROY IT!" _Serpentor lashed back.

The Tech in question started speaking about what they could do under their agreement with the United Nations, but decided to not tempt fate while he still had a chance at a very long life and promptly relayed the order to the right channel.

Donnie Ayers had to forcefully calm himself down before even starting to work on the wrecked Jumpers. They had a full flight of the Type-One's, eight in all, of the bird-shaped, humped-back aircraft. Their small size, narrow oval bodies, large angular wings (folded for storage) and forked tails made them very nimble craft in atmospheric flight—while the advanced ion thruster on their backs could put them in low to medium orbit from a earthbound start, either rolling or vertical take-off.

But Ayers himself had to wince and avoid his eyes in some places, as the body parts of Persuader-influenced suicide bombers were still being found and recovered from around wrecked Jumpers and various portions of the ship's internal structure. Practically all of the Cobra personal and half of the UN delegation suicided, all of the Joes were saved because the crews were able to stop and disarm them. Still, a lot of explaining was due to be done. Ayers was glad he had no part of that show, that was Yukinama's deal.

_"Alright;" _he mentally began figuring, _"Half the equipment is wrecked, but can be replaced by what's coming. It'll be an odd fit, but if Nine squawks—tough. They dropped the ball, they deal with it."_

And with his mind properly set on what needed to be done, Ayers started to work on the problem when Hawkern's telepathic call cut right through his mind.

_{Come to the Command Center!!} _she cried.

Ayers raced for the place with little concern for anyone who ambled into his way.

Since Hawkern didn't address him by name, he knew there was something really serious occurring. It was their code for trouble. And there was plenty when he arrived, coming from a tapped communication occurring with in Cobra's Com-Net involving an order to destroy an intruder to the north of the Island. Already, what defensive systems that could be mustered were and the Dom Delilegos became something short of a floating fortress as crew members quickly armed themselves for attack. But nothing was indicated by way of observers on deck of any assault wave coming at them. Even the In-close radar systems showing nothing but clear sea for two miles around them, leaving them all to wonder what was going on.

Tense minutes later, they found out; _"It's the Joes!" _came the sudden exclamation from the overhead speakers. Which was quickly followed by; _"Well what are we waiting for? Let's party!"_

What followed to the relived, and surprised, Command Center group were vivid verbal descriptions of the resulting battle from the attacking Cobra pilots' point of view. And from those descriptions, it was evident that the Joes were taking it badly in the battle

But not one called in to report the oblivious violation of the UN Treaty, which was very puzzling.

Then another monitor tech called out; "I'm getting an attempt at interplanetary communications"

And immediately after that, a crew member reported that the Osprey-jet had taken off.

18


	12. Chapter 12

Eleven.

TOM.

It was called the Low Rider, a highly sophisticated high-speed insertion/attack boat that had been forced upon the Joes to replace, as the Pentagon's General Ordinance and Special Equipment board stated, 'aging Hovercraft fleet'. Riding low in the water, sleek in design, heavily armed and armored and packing plenty of radar masking/anti-masking equipment that could 'easily handle anything that could be conceivably thrown at it, (as the experts said), the Low Rider was a real killer.

Only on paper, and in the minds of so-called 'experts' who really had no business designing military equipment. Because soon after entering Cobra waters the Joes activated the radar masking system, and numerous electrical systems suddenly shorted out with very spectacular electrical arching that all but destroyed communications, the weaponry systems, and the entire engine. Not even the back-up system could be used, let alone figured out since the instructions were written so confusingly none of them could figure out what was being explained—and the detailed system repair plans were for something else altogether different.

And to pile upon their already crummy luck, they were pounced upon by a squadron of F.A.N.G. Gyrocopters firing everything they had upon the stricken craft with relish. There was a slight ironic twist to it, Duke figured, trust Cobra to finish what the Low Rider's design committee failed to do. Why they didn't just call it into the UN only crossed his mind briefly. The paperwork would have probably have been overwhelmingly enormous, and they nearly beat the Joes if not for their reckless attacking style.

But they were known and in the area, and that was very bad. There was very little celebrating after the last F.A.N.G. fell to a fiery death. The battle took nearly all of their small-arms munitions, and with the ship's defensives being completely messed up as they were another sweep of anything sent by Cobra would finish them all off quickly. But as angry as Duke was, or as desperate as the situation was, none of them wasted time lamenting their situation or pointing fingers of blame at Duke for leading them to what would possibly their deaths. Instead, those who could went to work trying to figure out which wire went where and hopefully still had enough juice in the batteries to get them close enough to Cobra Island where they could swim the rest of the way.

It was the best they could do at the moment, and they were well into it when Mercer suddenly shouted out, "_Hydrofoils!!_"

_Damn! _Duke swore inwardly, but like the others drew his weapon out and aimed at the oncoming attackers—completely unaware of the slowly moving Osprey-Jet coming up from behind them. Even without any outside noise, the craft's baffled engines wouldn't have been herd by the Joes even if it was on top of them, only the exhaust wash would have given it away at that point.

But the Joes did notice the sole occupant of the Osprey-Jet fly right over their heads, as it rocketed towards the oncoming Cobra Hydrofoils. And they didn't know what to think.

By rule, every piece of equipment used by Cobra had, in some form or another, a specialized tracking device that not only monitored location and performance but also capture and destruction. Not only was this an excellent inventory tool, it also cut down on overhead, repetitive paperwork, and questionable intelligence.

So when the last F.A.N.G. was flamed by the Joes, the Hydrofoil patrol was more than ready and ordered into attack formation by its leader who dutifully notified the Command Center of the action. Seeing Serpentor's face in stead of the Commander's on the video was something of a shock, but the Patrol Leader was one who really didn't care who was in charge as long as he was paid in a timely manner.

"_Attack and destroy the intruder! Avenge your fallen comrades!!"_ Serpentor so ordered

He also knew that one didn't do a job half-way with the Cobra Emperor, or fail him. Best get it all done quickly.

In the approach, all they were dealing with was small-arms fire. The ship had Gatling cannons and missiles that would give any attacker pause, but they were simply sitting as dead as the ship before them. _Not a matter_, the Patrol Leader thought, _a torpedo wave will finish them easily…_ And started setting up for such when the call came in from Boat 0078; _"We have an airborne intruder approaching from the west!"_

And thoughts of easy money went right out of the Patrol Leader's mind with an angry curse. It had to be a Helio coming to rescue the Joe's, it was the only thing that made sense to him.

"Track and blast it!" He shouted into his Com. "Nobody escapes!"

That was as good an order to attack as there ever was, and the Patrol started the run—then another call; _"Incoming! Incoming! Second intruder approaching—" _

And that Hydrofoil simply blew up. A loud and large disturbing display of explosive chaos right out in front of the Patrol Leader's own craft, that blinded him with its brightness... His pilot swerved wildly to avoid the wreckage, nearly flipping the craft over in the violent wash of the explosion. Then others of the Patrol began blowing up, some managing to get off shots from their guns and missile pods before joining their mates in violent death, while others crashed their ships by avoiding their exploding fellows. In seconds, the Leader's own ship was stable and he had only two others left of his Patrol still active. Barely a minute passed from the start of battle, and it was then the Leader caught his first glimpse of what their attacker was.

Then he blinked to be certain that he was seeing what he was seeing; a large human figure wearing not only what looked like a large heavily armored humanoid figure with a large winged flight pack, large double barreled cannon with large drum clips on it's sides…But also a large floppy brimmed hat, and a very long multi-colored scarf wrapped numerous times around its neck with tasseled ends waving in it's wake. It hovered over the burning wreckage in a semi-crouch, waiting…

A missile barrage from its left made it slide then rocket upward. Boat 0127 blasted through the fire with all its guns firing, but the figure simply dodged it all or blasted it from the sky with its large gun before two missiles struck 0127 broadside as two others arched overhead. The sound of one boat blowing up right after another drowned out the Patrol Leaders' yelling. He wanted out of there, hang Serpentor or what he'd do—at least he could live a while longer. But the explosions also drowned out the ship's radar lock-on detector, giving him no warning of the missiles coming for him…

No ideal at all.

They were not ones to even look a gift horse in the mouth. Strangers granting them the opportunity to escape were logically treated with suspicion, especially when they came out of no where. But just this once, after a quick review of their current situation, the Joes weren't about to baulk at the offer to escape from the Low Rider in the strange aircraft that suddenly appeared behind them with it's rear cargo ramp lowered ever so conveniently for them to enter—or that other craft that was currently reducing a Cobra Hydrofoil Patrol to fiberglass and metal splinters right before them.

Duke simply swallowed hard and made the decision to get his men onboard that aircraft, because sometimes even he had to blindly trust something that appeared too good to be true. But in the aircraft's cockpit, he knew he could get answers. But Wild-Bill, the Joe's wiry Texan pilot, had beaten him to it.

"_DUKE!! There's no one flyin' this dang thing!" _

Duke and others followed the yell and saw for themselves. The crafts cockpit was empty, the only thing active were the instruments which were projected holographic displays that showed every function of operation in great detail. Even the control sticks and joint throttle controls were holographic 'ghost', glowing bright yellow against the colorful backdrop. And according to the controls, they were turning and rising at the same time.

"This," Wild-Bill told Duke, "is too weird for me."

"But who does it belong to?" Lift-Ticket quietly questioned from behind.

Like the outside of the mysterious aircraft, the inside told Duke little of its origins. But friend or no friend, it didn't make him lower his guard for an instant.

"_DUKE!!"_

Roadblock's shout brought them all to the cargo hold, where the Heavy Machine-gunner held his .50 caliber Browning machine-gun upon a large, crimson, armor-suited figure with large wing-like ears stood near in the rear wearing a folded-wing back-pack and it's floppy brimmed black hat at a slight angle, revealing a black face-plate for a face. The ends of it's multi-colored scarf dangled near it's large boot-like feet, and holding its double barreled gun like a staff as it's head slowly turned until it stopped upon Duke—and spoke in a very polite English accented voice, "Excuse me, First-Sergeant Hauser, but could you ask your man to please lower his weapon? Not that it could actually harm my especially armored body, but the deflected rounds could easily damage this ship."

Duke glanced at Roadblock holding steady with his Heavy machine-gun before slowly turning back to the crimson figure. "How'd you know my rank and name?' he casually asked the figure.

"A…proper identity search of the Pentagon's Special Forces Database." The figure hesitantly answered. "A very simple matter, really. But I must say, we really should be getting back to the Delilegos…Not only am I in trouble already with my maker, but we risk being discovered by more Cobra forces if we stay here."

The Database was one kept separate from the standard Pentagon computer systems by physical means, only those with physical access to the inner most reaches of the Pentagon could obtain that data. Not the best means of security, Cobra Commander proved that while masquerading as the President's Chief Advisor, but they did make strides in the meantime by limiting that prized access to _Military only_—which did nothing to ease fears amongst the Joes, which was so proven right before them. But Duke caught onto something uttered by the creation before him, something that intrigued him to ask, "Your Maker…Who is that?"

Duke wasn't really sure what he'd get in the way of an answer from the creation; it had been acting a little too proper up to this point. Now it was acting slightly hesitant in answering.

"My…maker…is Professor Donnie Ayers."

Despite all of the professional training they endured, none of the Joes there could contain their astonishment.

Serpentor had a violent fit.

He'd been closely monitoring the battle by the Communications station. When the F.A.N.G.'s were destroyed, he became so incensed that nearly killed the station's operator. What saved the poor station operator was the call from the Hydrofoil Patrol's Leader, and that Serpentor watched from the boat's video remotes slowly increasing in rage as the single interloper, which couldn't be clearly seen, easily destroyed the entire force. Once more, the station operator felt Serpentor's strong hand squeezing rapidly upon his very conveniently reachable neck when a Guardsman entered to report that Wildman and his female companion couldn't be found anywhere.

Serpentor quickly released the operator, and broke the Guardsman's neck with a single back-handed blow that tore the helmet right off the man's head.

Still forcibly held to his knees, Cobra Commander smiled behind his mirrored faceplate while everyone else in the Control Room sat riveted in fear. He could do it, and no one would know it—including Serpentor, who wheeled about to face him.

_"Take him from my sight!!" _Serpentor literally screamedat the guards holding the Commander down, who quickly complied because by doing so they would easily escape the Cobra Emperor's murderous wraith and bash Cobra Commander around at the same time in a noisy, physical manner that eventually ended in an elevator with two Guardsmen and a Viper at the controls.

Things were a little better, while still bound and on his knees, Cobra Commander now had opportunity—something Serpentor would never allow him to have. But it did depend upon a few things…

"Listen to me…"He began, "I can make it worth your—"

A rifle butt smashed into his face place. Not enough force to completely shatter it, but it did crack the mirrored surface and the blow did rattle him considerably.

"Nice shot." The Viper mentioned to the Guardsman with an added nod of approval.

"It was easy." Said the Guardsman in question while flipping his rifle around to point its muzzle directly at Cobra Commander's faceplate. "Now, I want to see him try something really dumb."

"Attempted escape?" The Viper wondered.

The Commander's facilities returned soon enough, enabling him to be surprised by hearing a voice he recognized.

"That'll be nice." The Guardsman agreed. "He was shot dead while attempting to take my weapon, while trying to escape."

"Yea, very nice…But I think Serpentor wants to do the honors." The second Guardsman countered. "He would take it too kindly if his toys get damaged."

"Hey, he tried escaping." Explained the first Guardsman to the other, "What are we suppose to do? Yell _Stop in the name of the Royal Mounted Police_ as he runs away?"

"No. I'm thinking about what he did to Moe back there in the Command Center." The second Guardsman explained, "Except it happening to _both_ of us."

"Then just shoot him in the legs." The Viper sharply remarked. "He won't die. But he'll certainly be alive for Serpentor to deal with."

Cobra Commander looked up slightly towards the Viper at the controls, and saw enough to know that it was Colton in disguise.

"So, General Colton, you managed not only to escape but also fool the entire Cobra Army."

The first Guardsman started to swing his rifle again, but what stopped by his companion.

"What?"

"He's silly enough." The second told the first. "There's no need to make it worse."

The Viper didn't even turn.

"You really must be congratulated, Colton." Cobra Commander continued. "Such daring, such nerve…You would have gone far, in Cobra."

"Listen you." Snapped the second Guardsman to his former leader. "That old fart's getting his brains reamed outta his head right about now, so mind you to just…shut—"

The Commander's mirrored faceplate gave both Guardsmen an excellent view of the Viper behind him, especially when the Viper turned to look back and Colton knew he had to act or die right there. And did, riddling both Guardsmen in moments with the machine-pistol he had before they could raise their weapons.

"Now I know I can count on G.I. Joe to rescue me." Cobra Commander matter-of-factly said as Colton hauled him to his feet by grabbing the front of his tunic.

"Cute, Commander. Really cute." Colton snarled. "Where's Wildman?"

"Haven't you noticed?" The Commander coolly replied, "Serpentor's return has seriously complicated matters."

"Not my problem." Colton snarled back. "I…want…_Wildman!_"

"Yes…I sort of figured that." The Commander dryly said. "But not in the way you'll ever believe."

With Serpentor's return, the entire Cobra Command Complex came alive with his loyalist's rooting out and brutally eliminating those who were not, so to strip Cobra Commander of another advantage to remove him from power. Not that it mattered, most were largely loyal to the ideal of being in power when the World was Cobra's, and not too terribly fond of arguing politics at gunpoint, so it was largely a non-violent take over with very little bloodshed.

But with Serpentor there, that meant being in a constant state of heightened alert preparing for battle. Already, several of their fellows were claimed by enemies unknown with two more hiding right in their very midst. Those two Serpentor expressedly wanted found and brought before him, as well as redirecting of the Complex's powerful communications array to beam a message into Outer Space for the purposes of establishing contact…

No body questioned Serpentor, nobody even dared. With the story of what happened to an unwary messenger and Serpentor's loyalists firmly in place, nobody was willing to loose their head by speaking out against him. They just preoccupied themselves with their duty at the present and nothing else, making it quite easy for Wildman, carrying Angel on his shoulders piggy-back style, to slip through on minimal Persuader power.

Their journey, guided by a tracking device that resembled a pair of horn-rimmed eyeglasses, took them through crowded corridors of jostling, yelling soldiers with their equipment half-on, down stairwells just as congested, and across the open territory from the outer rim to the main building of the complex itself. Angel had no ideal where Wildman was going, and wasn't about to start asking at this time. She just clung to his back as Cobra soldiers, who should have obliviously seen them, simply ignored them as they traveled deeper and deeper into the main pyramid. The Persuader on her wrist wasn't as heavy as it appeared, but the sensation of being covered with millions of tiny bugs marching across every bit of skin did take some getting used to.

Just as long as it didn't cut out at the worse possible moment was all she was concerned about.

It was just as hectic in the main pyramid as it was in the outer, but the farther downward they went the more traffic thinned out until near the bottom it was only them next to the gated door, marked _Dungeon, _where Wildman lowered Angel to the ground_._

"Time to disguise ourselves." He told Angel. "Just hold still, I'll set it for you."

Even as she watched, there was still a mystery to who the device worked. All Wildman did was touch and turn the dial-frame ever slightly, and in the reflection of a hand mirror that he held up for her to see she was now in the uniform of a Cobra Viper—as was he, still wearing the glasses.

Under the red scarf, he smiled, "Ready?"

"You sure about this?" Angel asked.

Wildman pointed at his glasses then tapped the side of his head, and opened the door to the Dungeon Level where before them was a Guardsman in an in closed booth next to a heavy security door.

"State your business!" the Guardsman demanded, his voice amplified through a speaker set below the window.

"Assignment to Dungeons." Wildman answered as he approached.

The Guardsman acted as if he didn't know what to think, and checked his computer monitor to be sure. That's when Wildman used the Persuader on him, changing the Guardsman's attitude quite considerably.

"And early too…Just go right on in." And opened the door for them.

The Dungeons weren't the classic stone and putrid water namesakes, but an ultra-modern array of tiny metal cubicles not much wider than an average clothes closet and with a small observation window on the door. But with high-tech, why should the guards needed to make the rounds to check on their prisoners when they could do it from the luxury of the control station. There, they could easily keep watch with the monitor banks while drinking coffee and doing other things at their leisure. Not something Serpentor would have cared for, but those at the station would have seen him coming and easily be ready for him.

So when Wildman and Angel arrived, the two there were already on their feet and ready to leave—which they soon did, with little hesitation.

Once the doors were secured, Wildman started searching the cells as Angel rifled the weaponry lockers.

"Why would you believe they're down here?' She finally had the opportunity to ask.

"I placed a tracker on Colton, similar to the one I gave you—you still have it?

There was worry in his voice, especially when he asked. Wildman had handed it to her after she had abandoned her evening gown for some clothes that he'd brought along for effect. The blue long-sleeve pull-over, black soft-soled boots and gaucho pants did fit her somewhat loosely. But they were doable, and the tracker in question was sung in her boot.

"I do."

"And so does General Colton. Currently, he's in an elevator arriving at the far end of the main corridor. As for Cobra Commander, he was stuffed into the same elevator not too long ago—which makes it perfect."

Angel paused in her rummaging. "Now how do you know that fact?"

Wildman sighed, not of irritation—just in realization of something that there was no time to explain about before.

"Telepathic." He answered. "There are agents here with the ability, and they've been guiding me since my arrival."

Angel paused in the classic 'Now I should have realized that' way, but with a duller look on her face. Wildman turned away from the monitors and faced her.

"There are…plenty of things you've been forced to understand about me in a very short time. All that I ask is that you—"

"Trust." Angel smiled, which caught him by surprise. "Well, I don't see having much say in this matter."

"You could have shot me." Wildman pointed out.

Angel pulled free the ammo bandoleers, and elbowed the door close while still smiling at Wildman. "Aye…And I doubt I could have stood much of a chance against the Dreadnoks—so there."

Wildman smiled knowingly.

"Now, shan't we be heading for an elevator?" She merrily asked.

It was a clear fact Cobra Commander was capable of anything, Colton having experienced that fact personally. But now, he was wondering if the self same Cobra Commander was either blatantly lying—or had literally gone off the preverbal deep end.

"Wildman, an _Extraterrestrial?"_

"Or in league with them." Cobra Commander added. "It's the only thing that I can explain his reasoning for coming here."

Colton didn't dare glance at the floor of any marbles, he'd haft to take the Commander's word as it was—nuts.

"Just what are you—"

"That wasn't a Meteor that crashed into the Gulf, Colton." Cobra Commander warned. "It was a ship…a Spaceship. I managed to recover it and its passengers. Everything's being held at a special location on the far side of the Island."

Colton could see his own disbelief mirror on the Commander's cracked face plate.

"I can prove it!" the Commander cried.

"All you've proven to me is that you've completely gone off the deep end." Colton snapped back. "Way off the deep end."

18


	13. Chapter 13

Twelve

Discovery.

Donnie Ayers and Lisa Hawkern stood together at the base of the aft landing platform, their jackets sipped up against the chill that came off the water and staring off to the northeast where the dying glow of burning wreckage barely peaked above the horizon—he with his vintage 1928 Thompson sub-machine gun, with giant drum magazine in place, slung low across his back by it's strap, and she with her exotic bull-pup Auto-Shotgun of a design unknown beyond those on-board the Delilegos as were the rest of her armaments. They'd been standing there since shortly after TOM made contact with the Joes in the Osprey-Jet, wondering what to say to the one-time battle armored suit that was now a very much self-conscience construction.

"He's forty miles out, and moving slow." Ayers slowly drawled. "He'll be here in ten minutes."

"You knew he was capable of this." Hawkern frowned while bunching herself against the chill. "Knew for a very long time."

She wasn't trying for an argument, or insulting her husband. Hawkern had very fond childhood memories of TOM, and more concerned as to what would happen to the construct since it very clearly violated the security protocol they were operating under.

Even Wildman, very busy on Cobra Island, was at a loss when she sent what happened to him, but promised to get back to them as soon as he could. But he did manage to impart back words of encouragement; _if they try scalping TOM, the first thing I'll do is scalp them! _

But, there was still the _act_ to consider. That was the problem with artificial intelligence; they were like children—you raised them to think and act in hopefully a responsible manner, as well as to pick up behavioral cues from complete strangers to help mold the thought patterns of its electronic brain into those similar to organic nerve tissue before ever letting them go 'on their own', to deal with the unavoidable influences they will encounter in their daily existence. The need to protect and defend had been originally inserted into the make-shift robot by Ayers' father, and had been modified and expanded upon by Ayers' himself ever since that vastly enlarged TOM's ability to reason out any situation quickly…

And act.

Ayers reflected on that great dilemma, but really couldn't find anything to say about it.

"Donnie, I want you to be nice to him." Hawkern urged. "No threats, demands, or physical act-"

"He's stronger than I am, woman, and family." Ayers frowned, with no hint of annoyance.

"I know that." She quickly returned. "I'm just worried—"

Ayers stepped close to Hawkern, their noses practically touching. "There's nothing SecNine can do except eat it raw." He hushedly told her with a smile. "They, through their own stupidity, have caused more damage than TOM has with what he's just done."

Hawkern still didn't look very convinced, or relived. "You don't know SecNine."

"Oh, shit on SecNine. They're overly hyped, overly bloated, and royally dropped the ball. Thanks to TOM, there maybe a second chance at salvaging something from this mess."

"You sure?" There were times when she doubted her husband's logic, especially when they were children. Of course then he was a sickly child trying to prove that he could do what all the other, more healthier children, could do. It almost killed him at times back then. But his determination to succeed in spite the odds was far stronger than his frail body could withstand, and it didn't stop him at all. Even now, he wasn't any different—and even more determined.

Ayers paused for a moment before responding with a smile. "Kim thinks so. And my monies are on Kim. Aren't yours?"

That left Hawkern more than a little embarrassed about holding any doubts at the moment, but none the less just a little worried to what the future would bring them.

"But this operation…The risks we took to keep it secret from the World—"

"Look, what do'ya want me to do? Gun down the Joes he's rescued?" Ayers then asked.

"Well, no!" she shockedly replied. "That would be—"

"Murder." Ayers directly replied with a serious look. "And what makes you want to be apart of it?"

Hawkern knew her husband could really wig himself out with paranoia; she herself had chastened him many times on that bad habit of his. What prevented her from doing it again were the small groups of ship's crew simply milling about as if _waiting_ for something to happen with weapons ready to use. They were simply too convenient being where they were.

_"She wouldn't dare."_

_ "SecNine's desperate, honey. If you haven't noticed." _Ayers whispered back. _"In fact, we all are."_

"Donnie…"

"I don't like seeing good people wasted out of haste." Her husband lowly added. "So when they arrive, get in touch with Kim. The sooner, the better."

Hawkern nodded.

It wasn't exactly what Duke, or any of them in the cargo hold, would consider really believable. But the giant robot, who introduced itself as TOM, had been very earnest in his explanations and answered all their questions, and it was still really wild nonetheless. But the more Duke had to think about it, the more all the connections started coming together—why they were Wildman in the Penthouse Suite, the Montana connection, even Wildman's sudden appearance after decades, where he was all that time…And why he wanted to 'defect' to Cobra. But there they were, flying slowly back to and landing upon the Dom Delilegos with the cargo ramp conveniently directed for easy egress to the research ship.

And once down, TOM lumbered hesitantly down the ramp to where the Engineer and the Porn Queen stood quite close together. The sight didn't at all faze him at all, unlike all the heavily armed crewmembers standing about with wary eyes focused upon the Joes as they followed TOM down the ramp. They were expecting trouble by the way they held their weapons. Though there wasn't too much the Joes could give them, in fact, it would be much of a fight.

It was all upon what Ayers would do. And that would be soon revealed, as TOM lumbered towards him and Hawkern after leaving the ramp.

"Master…Mistress…I" TOM began, but Ayers waved it simply aside with no malice at all.

"Stand guard, Tom." Was all he said, as he easily walked passed his creation.

And said it loud enough for everyone on or near that landing pad to hear. Several of them stopped, some were hesitant to move.

Nor did TOM. The Mech went where he was told to go, and upon reaching there went into a ready stance. Hawkern looked hesitantly after Ayers as he casually approached Duke, and then quickly stepped away towards the interior of the ship. The Joe noted the Engineer wasn't on the verge of anger or fear. He just looked even, stopping before Duke and his team halfway up the ramp.

"I suppose TOM told you plenty." He said directly to Duke. "Got any questions about it?"

Cobra Commander wouldn't shut up about aliens, and Colton just about had enough of it. Beating him into silence was a wonderful ideal that was rapidly gaining acceptance over his common sense. But the elevator was coming to a halt, and Colton would soon have to reassume his Viper identity. Weather or not he could do with a babbling Cobra Commander, whom he couldn't dare release for what Colton knew he could do.

And he wasn't disappointed. The elevator stopped sooner than expected, and its doors opened to two heavily armed Crimson Guardsmen to which Cobra Commander did what Colton expected him to do.

"There's a Joe in this Elevator!!" he practically screamed to the rushing Guardsmen. Colton shifted around, using the screaming Commander as a shield between this new threat and himself. He could take both of them down and to hell if the Commander got killed in the process…

Only it didn't turn out that way. The lead Guardsman touched his wrist, and suddenly there was Wildman standing before them looking very seriously at Cobra Commander—who was just as surprised as Colton was at that sight and of the dark-skinned girl with bone-white hair who appeared next to Wildman.

"I take it that's General Colton behind you?" Wildman simply asked.

Cobra Commander didn't answer. Wraith-like, Wildman moved forward towards him gripping the dial face of his watch.

_"I'd love an explanation about now!"_ Colton angrily shouted at Wildman, but the scared man ignored him and raised his watch-face right into Cobra Commander's face…

And Colton felt like he was floating, with no connection to anything.

Then there were voices…"The Survivors, where are they?"

…"There…were…none…"

There was a very lengthy pause, then slowly, "None?"

…"None…All were dead…when we arrived at…the crash site."

Another pause, longer than the last. Colton could just make out the murmuring of a female voice, soft and low in the distance. He just could concentrate on it too readily to identify its owner, like the ones that were occurring close by.

…"Where are the bodies, the wreckage? Everything?"

…"Research facility…abandoned…Location, Zero-fifteen…south quadrant of Island."

And Colton was suddenly back in reality. Cobra Commander slipped forward towards Wildman, who looked like he'd been hit with impossibly bad news. Regaining his senses quicker than Colton, the Commander started speaking to Wildman, "I can show you where it is…But for—"

And Wildman slammed his fist squarely into the Commander's stomach with his face a contorted mask of anger, slamming him back against the elevator's wall next to Colton before dropping to a pained heap on the floor.

_"Do not think you can buy favor with me!"_ Wildman snarled murderously down at the struggling figure on the floor. _"Or make me sell to the likes of you!"_

When Colton's head finally cleared, he saw Wildman as he _really _was; not just as a man heavily scared, but in his ears—his large elvin ears. They stuck straight out from the sides of his head, like aircraft wings, only the left ear was much shorter than the right by an easy two inches. A clean slice if there ever was one.

Colton just stared. While inwardly, he was shaken to his very core by the all too clear fact that _Cobra Commander had been telling the truth!_

"My…" he accidentally uttered, catching Wildman's hostile attention.

"If you were expecting me to '_phone home_', I'm so sorry to disappoint you." Wildman bitterly remarked.

Serpentor had been calling constantly for more than thirty minutes, and no one in the Command Center dare snicker.

"To the forces of Lord Devronique, this is Serpentor, Emperor of Cobra—and of all its concerns. I know you are out there waiting for Dawn; I have your agent Merrimack and have made him talk. I wish to parley with you on this matter, for refusal will mean your destruction."

Even after thirty minutes, Serpentor himself was becoming tired of the silence that followed his broadcasts. He was giving this 'House Lord' plenty of time to respond, and nothing…Fine then, He mentally concluded, one last warning and if nothing by the end of an hour a global alert would be issued to all Cobra forces to be ready for an invasion at dawn.

From Outer Space.

Being all that he was, Serpentor had no ready knowledge of science fiction and its overly familiar clichés. All he knew was what was taken from the one who had wormed his way into Cobra's higher ranks as 'Doctor Hydra', and all that made him what he now was could not brush aside the threat that both Hydra and Wildman represented to Cobra's dominance. Serpentor would never be subject to another's whims, no matter whom or what they were. So, at this point, the use of guile was demanded so to play on the adversary's sense of honor. The call to parley was the best such trick to use; it gave the best opportunity to feel this 'Lord' Devronique out—if he answers.

If not, it was best to be ready. There were significantly powerful weapons with in Cobra's arsenal to deal this House Lord a serious set back; Serpentor could call it all out if he wanted to. But honor demanded what he was doing now. In the very least, if Devronique didn't respond, his mind would be much clearer when it came time to act.

Serpentor had not set the microphone down for a moment, when a tech suddenly exclaimed; "I've found Wildman!"

Serpentor snapped quickly around. "Display it!" he demanded.

In moment on the Center's main monitor was a view from the security camera of the elevator now resting in the Dungeon Sector far below their feet, showing the scared up Wildman and General Colton standing over Cobra Commander as he lay curled on the elevator's floor. A third person was standing, but not as close. All that could be seen was the person's slender figure and short bone white hair, but it was enough to identify that person as the woman who arrived with Wildman.

Serpentor grinned viciously at the monitor. Fate was handing him yet another victory.

"Dispatch several squads to that area!" he barked. "I want them all taken alive and brought back here to me! _Failure will not be tolerated at all!!_"

11


	14. Chapter 14

Thirteen.

Devronique's Plan.

_Edrailians. _

That's what they called themselves_, _more specifically 'Mixes' due to their Elvish Edrailian appearance 'mixed' together with Human physical characteristics which had been going on for the past thousand years or so. And due to their elfish ears, coming in all pointed shapes and sizes imaginable including some that jutted out like aircraft wings—though Ayers ears were long metal bunny ears attached to a simple round base that he could turn and pivot at will--they were easily identifiable as such.

"I'm cybernetic." He easily said, demonstrating that by easily taking Roadblock's .50 caliber Browning right out of the big man's hands as if he wasn't even holding it, before pitching it back to him like a basketball.

That was the one easily identifiable fact about Ayers; he didn't waste too much time with words preferring instead to be easy with the specifics and Duke really didn't feel like getting a history lesson at the moment. That would come later, depending on weather or not things really went out of control, as they were on the verge of doing. TOM had explained many things on the flight to the Delilegos, about the fact that what was thought to have been a Meteor was really an Edrailian shuttle called a 'Jumper' and that they were just as mystified by the sea creature deaths as everyone else was—but were sure that it had nothing to do with the reactors that powered the Jumper. Had it, things would have been much worse. But they had until the coming dawn to find the crash survivors, who were in Cobra's possession—and why Wildman was on the island in the first place. It was what would happen if they failed Duke and the others weren't too clear on, so he was asking Ayers just to work those points down.

"If you cannot get the survivors out of Cobra's hands, this De-ron—"

"_Devronique_." Ayers corrected with minor irritation. Duke just nodded and continued; "He will come down and flatten Cobra while conducting the rescue himself…What is so wrong about that?"

Judging from the really irritated look on Ayers face, Duke realized that TOM hadn't told them everything. Once Ayers got over the blow, he quickly got to the point.

"This is a _Political Situation_." He carefully explained. "For centuries, House Devronique was working on a plan of intrigue and deception to establish itself as an Intergalactic Empire which they could rule, by force with their allies, over all the Houses in some sort of twisted belief of _divine right_—or some other excuse Dictators use to remain in control. Anyway, those plans were stopped dead by Kim's father just when it was on the verge of being achieved. When that lovely mess was straightened out, and all of their supporters wiped out, House Devronique found itself forcibly evicted from numerous mineral-rich territories and had its standing military forcibly stripped down to half it's strength…Because, had it not been for the exposure of those very plans, the resulting Interstellar war that would have occurred would have torn apart the established civilization—and most certainly would have touched the Earth, due to House Hawkern' presence here. They are enemies, you see, always have been since The Migration.

"And right now, the only thing that really hold's Devronique's forces in check are the alliance that Hawkern built up amongst the Houses to contain them. But, should that be tarnished in any way, say by failure to maintain the secret of one's existence from the bulk of Humanity, or being trumped in a highly visual manner—"

"But what does that have to do with…" Lift-Ticket interrupted. But since not being able to say 'Devronique' properly, he just gestured frustratedly before continuing. "His stomping Cobra into the Ground?"

For the moment, it looked like Ayers was going to explode. And given what he was, it would be extremely hard to keep him from tearing apart the Tomahawk pilot. Ayers though quickly forced himself to simmer down, stared directly at Lift-Ticket and snarled back; "Because after Cobra, he'd come after Hawkern…And finally all of us. He's not going to leave anyone around that he can't control to start another uprising against him."

The words were stunning, and Ayers took the time to recompose himself before driving the fact home; "Can you even imagine what Governments would do now if extraterrestrials were to suddenly appear, helpful, friendly, and considerate enough to point out the fact that there was another 'villainous' group of aliens living on this planet that have been responsible for numerous disappearances and other malicious acts—"

"They'd fall all over themselves to help him." Duke uttered, realizing what it was all about; no spaceships racing down from the sky to bomb human civilization to ashes as so depicted in numerous science-fiction stories and film. There wouldn't be any need for them to do so, especially when Politicians from around the world would fall all over themselves not only to please Devronique for their own self-centered images, but would be ever so grateful for the help he'd give them there would be no questioning of anything Devronique said or did, or his reasons why he came to Earth. But would wholeheartedly believe everything he'd tell them, and they would oblige him in every way as a result—thus effective enslaving humanity through its desire to make the Earth a better place, if they ever realized what was really going on.

"They'd wait on him hand and foot." Ayers added harshly in conclusion. "There'd be no stopping him at that point, because Hawker's power would be broken. We were trying to stop that from occurring, by sending the Delilegos out here in defiance of the UN. But those bastards went and stuck us royally up the ass, like they'd love to do everyone else if they ever got the chance, forcing us to scale a lot back because of those rules they so publicly made us follow. That's how Devronique got his personal assassin on board, crippling us seriously."

Duke wanted to argue those latter points, but found himself unable to when reason told him otherwise. It didn't matter what it was that landed in the Gulf, The United Nations would never have allowed anyone to get near it without their expressed permission—and that would have included their people on board directing every aspect of the operation. If the Exploratory Society went defiantly onward with their mission, that would have exposed much more than a simple investigation into what was polluting the oceans and thus creating an even far bigger mess which with all honesty they were trying to avoid. It wouldn't have been surprising if this Devronique had put into motion the creation of the whole UN deal, Duke reasoned to himself. Nice, simple, and a very bitter matter for his enemies to deal with that tied their hands by forcing them to deal with the obnoxious, but desperate, bureaucrats that would be placed in charge.

That easily earned his symphonies, and those of the Joes. But, there was one factor Duke wasn't too sure they were fully aware of…

"So you easily figure any survivors are being held by Cobra?" he asked. "Tell me, do you have any ideal what you'll be facing going up against them?"

"A large group of dissatisfied, disenchanted, and utterly disconnected people so fed up with the governmental same-old-same-old that they've put their hopes in on shark with slick moves and sheer nerve who'd may just yet change the World." Ayers simply answered. "With his moxie, it's a wonder he hasn't already."

"He came very close towards doing just that." Duke easily replied. They were bright; He had to admit, but still a little too dumb to deal with the likes of Cobra. "But that's only the icing." He pointed out to Ayers. "Your people haven't delved too deeply into _that_ particular cake."

Ayers started to speak, but stopped himself. Perhaps it was a rebuttal, perhaps not. Duke didn't worry about it, only that Ayers was now staring at him in a very direct way.

"What you sellin'?" he directly asked.

Duke didn't let the surprise idle him for long. They were all running out of time as it was.

"Experience. You may have spies on that island and within that organization as well, but I don't think any of you have dealt with Cobra like G. I. Joe has."

Ayers stance didn't change, but he was thinking behind that natural poker face of his. Duke, or any of his Team behind him, didn't want to rush it.

Then the notoriously dower engineer smiled. "Between the devil and the deep blue, heh?"

Then he painfully winced. That was a surprise, even for Duke. Ayers apparently recovered quickly enough, and shot a vicious glare towards the ship while rubbing his right temple with a gloved hand. "Blast it, woman, you don't need to scream like that! The intercom would have been better."

"What?" Duke wondered aloud, and Ayers turned to face him again.

"My wife just _sent _me a message much louder than it needed be." He grumbled. "Kim's made contact by radio…"

He paused then, gazing begrudgingly at the Joes. "Come on…We can discuss things on the way to the Command Center…"

It was the Lord Admiral of his Fleet, in his impeccable gray and white line uniform, which personally informed Lord Devronique in the latter's private chambers, of the news.

"The Transmission was picked up only five minutes ago." He professionally informed his Lord, who quickly turned the room's communicator to the frequency indicated by the Lord Admiral…

"_To the forces of Lord Devronique…This is Serpentor, Emperor of Cobra—"_

And just as quickly, snapped the communicator off.

"It appears, My Lord, Merrimack has failed."

Devronique turned, glaring murderously at his Lord Admiral before turning away to the displayed picture of the Earth on the screen.

"How much longer before the Council's Officers arrive?" He growled without turning.

"They will arrive one quarter turn before dawn, My Lord—which will be in another five turns."

_Five more hours_, Devronique seethed angrily within. Oh, how badly he wanted to go down there now, and finally settle things once and for all. He could use the broadcast into pushing the House Council towards letting him proceed ahead of schedule, easily citing the failure of Hawkern's forces to properly secure the Cobra hostages, and likewise due to their failure have managed to expose the whole of Edrailian civilization to a very clear and dangerous threat.

But of course, they would want to contact House Hawkern for an explanation—as well as ask why the deranged clone of many of Humanity's most deranged leaders was _addressing_ _him personally by name_. As old and increasingly useless as they were, the House Council, even with his allies, weren't that wholly for him enough to discount Hawkern. They would what everything, and by using Persuaders to get the truth out of them they would know everything.

Everything…

It burned; he stood to loose everything he so desired and owned over it. His allies, as formable as they were, weren't formable enough to stand for very long in a multiple front war. At least not now anyway…

"What does My Lord wish?" The Lord Admiral asked, his voice slightly wavering at the end.

_So the old ga-ga's scared. _Devronique mused, and rightly. He only gained his current position after his predecessor succumbed to fatal injuries upon delivering the news of Wildman's success in exposing the House plans for dominance. And now probably wondered if his life was going to be taken by the very same sword that lay within Devronique's easy reach upon its ornate holding rack…

"Have the preliminaries been dealt with?" Devronique asked, looking back over his narrow shoulder.

"All pre-activities will be completed in two turns, My Lord." The Lord Admiral didn't betray whatever fear he was feeling.

Devronique turned back to the viewer, disappointed at that and other things as well. He would have to wait until the clock had run down before acting, and Merrimack, his best assassin, had failed him inexcusably. But there was a slight glimmer of hope that things could be successful. That rested on weather or not Serpentor could create enough interference to thwart both Hawkern and Wildman.

And so began the count down…

Serpentor didn't bother continuing his calls to Devronique. Since there was no answer, so there would be no mercy should he confront this alien lord of the battle field—or if he dared coming for the hostages. Then again, there was Wildman on the monitor that held his fascination. Now he, Colton and that girl were dumping Cobra Commander into one of the special cells—not that Serpentor was all that concerned about it. At least the Commander would keep until the time of his execution, so there was no worry.

Just after the cell door closed, another call he had been expecting arrived. He simply changed the channel on the monitor to receive it, and there was the ninja-masked face of the Night Creeper's leader bowing to him.

"Area is secure, with no losses taken by us." The leader reported in respective tones. "The defenders have all been eliminated, and all B.A.T's have been reprogrammed. We have the entire building under our control."

Serpentor was simply busting out with joy. But, there was still caution to be exercised. "Be certain no harm comes to the treasure held with in that structure." He ordered the leader. "If there is, _you will pay!_"

"I shall protect it with my very life, my Emperor!" the leader obediently bowed back, which made Serpentor smile—such loyalty was most deserving.

"I shall be arriving soon." He told the leader before shutting off the connection, and then he turned to an awaiting Guardsman. "Have my Air Chariot prepared—at once!" he commanded.

11


	15. Chapter 15

Fourteen.

Combined Forces.

With in an hour, things were moving rapidly onboard the Dom Delilegos.

The Joes who were on board were brought out of their Persuader-induced state, and briefed _in toto _by Duke to the situation. They weren't exactly warm towards the ideal of a joint collaboration with extraterrestrial nationals, even with Lisa Hawkern's help in explaining the facts. Too much had simply happed to them on board the Delilegos, and it caused resentment to breed amongst them.

Duke simply got to the point with them; "_Stow it!_ You're all better than that—and don't tell me otherwise!"

They didn't, but the resentment was still there, though tempered as they filed out of the room. Hawkern cringed slightly at the sight.

"I haft to apologize." She carefully told a frowning Duke. "SecNine can be a little rough on people."

"We have a few such groups of our own that are no different, Miss Hawkern." Duke still frowned as he headed towards the door. "They _all_ need to be dealt with in their own special way."

The news of no survivors was particularly awful to deal with, as it stunned many in the Delilegos Control Center. Jumper Type-Three's, either civil or military, as Ayers explained, were built to withstand a lot of punishment due to the environments they were most likely to be operated in; largely in outer space at just over light speed, which placed far more stress on the vehicle equal flying into a category F-5 Tornado.

"Even from an impact at a Ninety, at high speed, crew and passengers would have survived due to the internal safety apparatus." Ayers grimly pointed out while lighting his briar pipe. "Unless the accident was deliberately caused, and circumvented the entire safety structure as a result."

"A bomb?" Mercer directly asked.

"Or a high-jacker in the system control node. We won't know until looking at that Jumper's black boxes." Ayers explained as he puffed away of his Briar-pipe, while watching the ships from his company arrive.

Intelligence was a significant point in the Joes' favor. Despite the insertion of several SecNine agents into Cobra's infrastructure, only a handful were presently active on the Island at that time and two active within the Central Command Complex— and tied up by Serpentor's return. They could help Wildman with in the base by _sending _him information telepathically, as all Edrailians could, but they couldn't actively support the rescue/recovery operation that was preparing to go in—while the bulk were busily setting up diversions on the Island. And what could be gleamed by those on the Island was pitifully small, so, both Mercer and Scarlett made very clear to both Yukinama and Ms. Candy with a vengeance, especially Scarlett, as they filled in the glaringly large holes in SecNine's 'advanced planning'.

Though even she had to admit, the U.N didn't help matters much by inserting itself as it had in the initial scientific operation. Bringing the surviving U.N. Officials out of their Persuader-induced dreaming at this point would only complicate matters more, possibly wrecking everything by revealing what was occurring to their superiors back in New York. So they were left in their coma, and out of everyone's hair. And once matters were all ironed out, a combination Joe-Edrailian advanced team was sent to established landing sites on the Island.

The bulk of the frenzy though centered on replacing that equipment meant for the operation that Hydra had wrecked. With the operation goals now shifted, the bulk of what was brought, largely combat-ready Jumper Type-One's and the larger Type-Two's, which were no different in design beyond their size, drone craft called 'Straifers' which were primarily slab-shaped vehicles the size of an average car but bristling with trackable auto-cannon, mortar and missile pods, additional security personnel from Ayers Aerospace to bolster forces lost in the suicide attacks, and small arms weaponry that wasn't that all different in function than weaponry the Joe's were used to except they were more of a compact bull-pup design that used high-capacity cylindrical-helical magazines, either top mounted with sub-machineguns or beneath the barrel forming a usable handgrip with the assault rifles, containing case-less munitions. Some assault rifles came with grenade launchers as a unit that could be fitted over the barrel and fed from a helical magazine as well, using shotgun caliber grenades, which could also be fired from combat shotguns built for the duty, which carried the punch of a 40mm mortar—very similar to the hassle-prone OICW the Pentagon brass was trying to push onto them, but lighter, easier to use and much more reliable than what they were using.

Considering all their weaponry used munitions that were nearly spent, the Joes were accepting towards the Edrailian small arms but Roadblock still hung on to his Browning M2. But what caught the most of their attention, as TOM explained, was the Portable Armored Suits—PAS, or 'Pass's" as he called them. They were armored suits, not much different than the heavy steel suits worn by medieval knights, but powered by micro-nuclear generators and easily capable of flight, once their collapsible wings and flight engines were deployed, and carrying more firepower than an armored division.

"Those are standard Infantry models." TOM informed. "They're meant to wade right into the midst of battle, and come right back—hence the heavier armoring and additional weaponry pods."

"They kind of look like you." Dial-Tone pointed out.

"I'm an older model." TOM casually replied while motioning to his head. "But with a more advanced brain."

And at that moment, Leatherneck, who had been wondering why such a machine would be wearing such clothing that TOM was wearing, discarded wonder and directly asked, "Exactly what's with that hat and scarf you're wearing.

TOM paused.

"My hat and scarf?" he quietly asked.

"Yes." Leatherneck drawled, "The hat and scarf."

"Simple, "TOM proudly drew himself up, "I'm a _Doctor Who_ fan."

For several moments, Leatherneck, Dial-Tone and Beachhead, who just arrived on the scene, stared silently at TOM just wondering what to make of it.

Then, Leatherneck finally broke the silence between them. "Doctor…what?"

"_Who…Doctor Who_."

"Oh…"Leatherneck slowly drawled in realizing he'd just put his foot into the preverbal 'it'. "Ok."

And too late too, for TOM leaned closer to him, asking; "Is there a problem, sir?" leaving the burly marine to regret ever asking the question in the first place.

Wildman remained cool, even after heaving the dead Guardsmen into one cell and Cobra Commander into another. The icy silence prevailed, even Angel could get him to respond. Wildman would only respond when he needed to, and that was usually in short, curt, sentences that explained the matter in the lightest, but most direct, terms. Angel wondered why, but Colton easily figured it out—and was soon proven right by Wildman himself as his coldness started to wane.

"My friends will recover the bodies and flight recorder." He told them both in a definite but detached manner on the way back to the Dungeon Control center. "But before we leave, I need to infect Cobra's defensive system with a looping virus to enable them to succeed at that…"

Then he stopped and turned to them, appearing both ashamed and a little embarrassed at the same time. "Initially, I was to head out there once done here. But, I need to get both of you safely out of here as well…My fault that you're here—"

"It's nobody's fault, Doctor." Colton directly replied. "This event is a series of accidental mishaps that lie beyond everyone's control. It's just rotten luck they occurred where and when they did."

Wildman didn't readily acknowledge that for a few moments, all he did was frown worriedly in that time before a slight smile formed on his face and he nodded towards Colton in acknowledgement.

"Quite right." He said, and things moved swiftly along after that. The Looper-virus was containable in a simple off the shelf flash drive. In Dungeon Control, all it took was an available USB Port and five minutes of rapid typing at a monitoring station and it was stealthily working its way through Cobra's operations system altering and hi-jacking everything it was meant to while the three were making their way to the other side of the Dungeon complex. There, Wildman indicated there was another elevator that would take them down to where the vehicle garages were.

"How'd you know?" Colton asked as they rushed through the floor.

"Spies." Wildman answered. "We have this whole place mapped out."

"So how much farther?" Angel piped up.

Wildman was about to answer, when bullets impacted the wall of the corridor just ahead of him. Not breaking stride, the Edrailian simply dove into the awaiting safety of the corridor's corner. Angel, startled by the shots, and too far to dive like Wildman did, nearly came to a complete halt and would have if it wasn't for Colton shoving her forward as he fired back upon their attackers.

"Go! GO!" he yelled, and Angel found her momentum running almost into Wildman as he gathered himself off the floor. There was no time to really think about what happened, or how they were discovered down there. That matter was done and settled, now it was up to escape from the pursuing Guardsmen who were now firing tear-gas and stun grenades down the corridor at them. Colton, at the rear, was taking the brunt of the assault in spite being just ahead of the gas and shock waves. But age and fewer corners to use as cover were catching up with him, until they reached the second elevator's doors. There, it was a long run, a good ten yards from that last corner where Colton just dodged one last tear-gas grenade that he felt himself start to slip. Angel was standing ready five feet away from Wildman with her rifle, while he was opening the doors by-passing it's security locks.

And halfway there, Colton's legs gave out.

Angel yelled, and soon Wildman was there to help him up and carry him the rest of the way to the elevator.

"_No!_" Colton yelled at them. "_Get yourselves out of here!_"

"Sorry, General, I can't hear you." Wildman casually stated, while easily helping Colton the rest of the way as Angel dealt with the approaching Guardsmen with burst from her rifle. "I made a promise, you k-"

A stun grenade landed with a loud _wump _behind them, knocking Colton and Wildman into the elevator—their feet just inside of the elevator when its doors closed.

After the hard landing on the elevator's floor, Colton was dimly aware of Wildman throwing his arm around him before the _hiss_ of the doors being opened…

"_It's empty!_" exploded a rude voice in Colton's head.

"You're blind!" snapped a second voice from farther back.

"_Ta hell I am!!_" the first voice shouted back.

Then the sounds of shuffling of booted feet all around. Colton tried moving, but found that he couldn't.

"Damn! But we saw them fall in here." Wailed a voice.

"Maybe they're in the shaft." Quickly suggested another. "Climbing the stairs."

"That's good enough for me." The first one put in. "Let's get em!"

"And the Girl?" another asked. Colton froze…

"If she's alive, take her to Serpentor…_Immediately!_"

The booted feet quickly stormed a way. And in moments, Colton was staring through the elevator's open doors down an empty corridor when Wildman released him from his hold.

The word came after an hour's wait; the advanced team had secured a small cove base, and the island's security net was completely under their control.

Duke didn't say anything, there wasn't any need to. The second wave was already launching. The PAS-suits spreading their wings and launching themselves from the deck with silent, graceful leaps, while the Straifer-drones and Jumpers left with whining gusts of vertical thrust. The Joes, most of them anyway, availed themselves to the Cobra GP Helicopter that was better suited to carry them all than the Osprey-jet would be. TOM was in it, fully armed and armored, making it almost impossible to carry anyone else beyond Wild Bill and Captain Yukinama in the trip directly to the Cobra Command Complex, while the others, including Ayers and Hawkern, would continue on to the place where the crash victims were stored.

Once in the GP, he took his place next to Lift-Ticket in the cockpit.

"Think you can fly this thing?" he jokingly asked.

Lift-Ticket didn't say anything at first. He just sat there before the typically arrayed controls, stuck between wonder and shock before slowly turning to ask; "Duke…Do you think…all of this is just a dream?"

Duke paused. He really couldn't answer the question. Science-Fiction didn't really interest the budding child artist all that much. Besides, considering himself 'practical minded' helped keep his feet on the ground. Well now even he had to admit that his 'feet' were knocked completely off the ground, and his whole would and what he believed in completely turned upside down—all in a matter of hours. Leaving him unable to even consider things normal again.

He glanced back to where Hawkern was seated in a meditative sort of pose, while Ayers, seated next to her, was idly fiddling with his antique Thompson.

Then Duke turned back to Lift-Ticket. "Why don't you ask me that after I've woken up?" he replied.

11


	16. Chapter 16

Fifteen.

Assault Begins

The operators in the Cobra Command Center, who performed the task of monitoring the numerous security and defense systems that protected Cobra Island from any intrusions, dutifully performed those tasks without complaint. Given the miserable life of the average Cobra foot soldier, and the threat of serious punishment for failing their duty, the operators, who personally considered their duty to be 'cushy', maintained an extra vigilant stance at their stations to the point they'd rarely look away from their monitors and radar screens. Everything that crawled, walked, rolled, floated and flew was kept under watch, and all stations throughout the Island dutifully reported that all was well with their own special call-code that properly identified and protected them from any falsified codes used by an intruder.

But it was anything but, at this point. For with in an hour of insertion, the Island's integrity was completely compromised by the Looper-virus Wildman infected it with.

Without even the slightest hint of betrayal, alarms were 'blocked' from operating because all indicating input was blocked from entering the system. And nothing appeared on video and inferred monitors, because what was being shown was simply modified playback of what was already recorded minutes before with the current timestamp--so nothing was out of place when it actually was. The Looper-virus even went as far as to redirect all security flights away from certain areas of the Island in a very convincing manner while copying all security codes that allowed unquestioned access to a wide range of Cobra systems on the Island, and elsewhere, and delivered them right into the hands of the Joe/Edrailian force already assembling in the small cove the First wave quickly overran wiping out the Cobra forces stationed there to the man.

There were vehicles, ranging from small jeeps to troop and material transporters, and other Cobra equipment for ready use, but the big problem was still the unease among the Edrailian force concerning the Joes not 'knowing' how _they_ did things. And it all came very close to falling apart until some really good fast-talk by Mercer was able to smooth over any communications issues there were. It also helped that he used to be a Cobra Viper, and knew very well what to expect on the Island.

"There are numerous check-points, at least a quarter mile apart for each other, and stay in constant radio contact with their fellows." Mercer quickly explained. "At each, there's a small garrison of soldiers ready for rapid deployment at the first sign of trouble. What's more, the roads, both coming and going, are mined. The garrison's commanders have the keys and the duty of arming those stretches. Get them, and you've secured that section of the road."

At least, they were better prepared when they set out; half of the group with Mercer and Torpedo heading east, while Wet-Suit and Shipwreck with the rest heading west. Both with the designated task of causing as much disruption as possible to the Island's defending forces for as long as possible, while the Second wave did its job farther to the south.

It took several minutes for Cobra Commander to regain himself from Wildman's devastating punch. Even with the high-tech body armor he was wearing underneath his uniform, the blow was a very painful experience that took the goodly portion of an hour to finally push aside to stand upright in the cell. But in all, the pain only motivated him towards moving all that much faster—blocking it out with every breath and heartbeat until it no longer confined his movements.

Then, he surveyed his surroundings; he was in the standard holding cell, a small cubical of dull-gray metal walls with a simple dull-gray metal toilet, which was nothing more than a small pipe with a hinged lid, set against the back wall, a small ceiling air-vent mounted directly over the toilet and a single glaring light mounted over the hermetically sealed door that was designed to prevent escape. Excellent for the disobedient soldier, at first anyway, who'd sit on the small toilet while considering his fate in a supposedly 'escape-proof' room…

But not for Cobra Commander, who had planned out every eventuality—to even being stuck in such a cell.

Removing his right glove, he placed his right hand upon the upper rear portion of the toilet and pressed. A click from above told him the secret door, that was the air-vent panel, was now open and the collapsible ladder ready to be pulled down. That lead to an air duct which he had to crouch down to navigate, once a second touch panel was pressed that gathered the ladder and closed the secret door behind him. Ten minutes of bent over shuffling lead to a duct junction the Commander had modified with another touch panel, and there he entered into a special room not readily located on any of the Command Complex's detailed building plans—another bit of planning for the worst on his part, with a computer terminal that had direct, and unimpeded, access to the central mainframe.

_Let's see how the 'mighty' Serpentor deals with this! _Cobra Commander mentally laughed to himself while keying the system up.

But it was bulky. Special commands were either redirected to lesser nodes or completely disregard them altogether. After the third try, he started checking over the master codes, to see if Serpentor had altered them by some unthought-of of means…

No, they were fine, all safe with in their specially hidden node right under Serpentor's very nose. It was just the Central Computer was under the control of something else, something that was merrily redirecting incoming traffic elsewhere while feeding falsified reports to the operators. Cobra Commander was simply astonished by how such was occurring, while staring at the computer screen wondering what to do next.

Mindbender was marveling on how the pen worked, as its micronized parts lay beneath the magnifying lenses of the examination table arrayed out in an exploded sort of view from the pen casing. Its owner was still slumped over, still unconscious, secured dutifully to the metal chair where he was interrogated not hours before. Mindbender didn't give the Edrailian assassin much thought. In his mind, the man was more pathetic than threatening and should remain unconscious for several more hours when Mindbender planned to really tear into his mind using the more powerful Scrambler at the Command Center.

But the pen, it was simply marvelous. The degree of compactability of its numerous internal components was as astonishing as it was frustrating to view through what he currently had available to do so, to do so properly would require the use of the electron microscopes in the CCC's Science Section—a matter he instantly noted to himself to modify the other secret cloning labs with such devices when the chance occurred. It was easy to reason that most of the vital parts had to be either microscopic in size, if not on the molecular level. If he could reverse engineer it, the advantage such weaponry could give Cobra would be tremendous…

And while considering all those possibilities, Mindbender realized he had left his Brainwave Scrambler carelessly lying on a near-by monitoring console. It was terribly stupid of him; one didn't leave such a devastating weapon casually lying around where even Hydra could get at it—if he could. And until Cobra Commander was properly disposed of, he properly chastened himself for not always having it with him.

Anyway, his body was starting to cramp from being bent over the examination table for so long. He needed to get up, to rest his eyes and work out the cramps. It would do him good, and there was Hydra still slumped over in the chair. But as Mindbender rose, Hydra had already freed himself from the bonds he was in and was silently rising up as well while gripping the back of the chair…

In an instant, he leaped bringing the metal chair down upon Mindbender's bald head with such astounding force the bone easily fractured. And as cloned scientist crumpled, Hydra kept viciously beating away at it with the chair despite the blood and gore splattering all over his crumpled white suit with streaks and splotches.

Satisfied, and very vindicated, Hydra dropped the chair and turned to his beloved pen. The fool had wrecked it, he could tell just by how it was laying there on the table that many of the finer connections were severed when it was pulled apart—and Hydra hadn't the means to repair that much damage, or time. He looked back upon Mindbender's body lying at his feet, and prepared to do it even more damage to it when he spotted the other Brainwave Scrambler on the monitor board. It was larger and cruder than his beloved pen, but it would do.

Soaring over Cobra Island in the darkness, when it was crawling with the utmost scum and villainy of the Earth, even in a Cobra aircraft, wasn't Lift-Ticket's ideal of a thrill. Blasting some of the installations they flew over would be very nice, putting a very good dose of fear into them from the initial surprise but Duke wouldn't have appreciated it. They had a job to perform, and such hi-jinks would cost them dearly in the long run. What more, with small the small advanced groups already on the Island eliminating the defenders and denying both communications and supplies to them, Lift-Ticket realized he could inadvertently wipe out several of those teams if he did give in to the impulse.

But he did keep his finger near the trigger of the GP's weaponry, just the same, even as they finally touched down at a small helio field a half mile away from the deserted facility. Mercer stepped out of the shadows of a small barracks building with two of Ayers people providing cover. The ex-Viper carried a radio and a very concerned frown on his sharp face.

"The rest are up ahead at the place." He told Duke in greeting. "But they've expressed doubts about it."

"Doubts?" Duke wasn't about to wonder, and quickly took the radio from Mercer when it was offered. Instantly, he was in contact with Ms. Candy.

"What's the problem?" Duke demanded.

_"The problem is the place looks already demolished." _ Ms. Candy answered. _"We're wondering if His Highness got his directions right."_

Behind Duke, Hawkern sighed exasperatedly. Ayers was simply dumbstruck.

_"The place looks like it was used for target practice." _Ms. Candy continued. _"The only good it's doing now is growth support of jungle vines."_

_ Well, the Island was hit by a low-level nuke. _Duke quickly considered.

"Wonder if they were herd of Camouflage." Beachhead annoyedly spoke up.

"There are a lot of things Sec-Nine haven't herd of." Hawkern sarcastically added.

"People _please!_" Duke snapped at those behind him, and then back to Ms. Candy; "Root through the place. Get out of your suits if you haft to, but it's a certain bet that's the place."

_"How certain?"_

Now Duke was starting to be overcome by exasperation, but it wasn't unbelievable. Even with the damage done to their reputation by Hydra, they still wanted to call the shots. Sharing really must have put them out, Duke figured, and he really wanted to give them all a good old-fashioned grand chewing out over their attitude when his own self-control quickly kicked in.

"Cobra Commander's a fox." He told Candy. "A very sly and cunning fox. He could have easily had the remains secured deep in his Command Center, but by now they would have been in Serpentor's hands—and that would have been a fight none of you could have handled. No, Cobra Commander wants them where only he knows and no one else. And the best place for that is where no one will ever expect—_now start looking!"_

As Duke handed the radio back to Mercer, Hawkern freely remarked; "That'll get them moving."

"Yea. Duke's got a very special way with people." Roadblock agreed.

"Oh I do." Duke sharply added as he started walking away. "If they don't do things the right way, I stay on em' until they do…_Now people, let's move!"_

10


	17. Chapter 17

Sixteen

Deals.

There was a very dim awareness of being half-carried, half-dragged, across metal to the accompaniment of boots striking the floor heavily in steady rhythm that slowly dragged her back from blissful unconsciousness. Angel really couldn't get her self to move, even if she wanted to. Arms were held fast behind her, and her legs simply wouldn't work for the life of her.

_Just as well_, she reasoned, _I'm being taken somewhere…Might as well enjoy the ride. _

And that ride made use of stairs and elevators, stairs mostly. By the time it was nearly at an end, Angel's senses returned to make her realize the heavy double doors she passed through was a very important area full of voices and electronic machinery.

_"What is this?"_ loudly demanded a commanding regal voice ahead of her. And quite suddenly, Angel's full facilities returned with a very deep sense of dread.

"One of the three who invaded the Dungeon Section, My Emperor." A steady, less louder voice, answered back. "Troops are searching for the other two."

The first voice didn't respond. But there were footfalls slowly growing in volume. A long majestic stride, accompanied by the sound of a long cloak swirling behind in its wake, eventually stopping before her. Golden boots with a scalely finish were all that Angel saw, before she felt a strong gloved hand grasp her throat and rudely jerk her head upward into face a cruel man whose cruel face was framed with in the mouth of a faux gold and crimson replica of a King Cobra's head.

The Cobra Emperor slowly grinned with delight.

"What intriguing eyes you have, my dear Lady Drummond." He slowly, sinisterly, purred. "But a pity you don't have your Father's cunning."

There was no need for introductions, Angel knew who she was facing from a good many times she'd seen that evil face on the television news, or during deliberately pre-empted programs by Cobra, announcing that _he _had the means to bring all nations to their knees if they didn't surrender to him—complete with a sickening demonstration of that very power. The very face of Serpentor the Madman, as he had been called; all the reason in the world why Cobra needed to be completely wiped from existence. That, and anything else, Angel kept shut away with in her. _Boss talk and big words, like spitting and snarling at your captors, are great to see in the movies,_ she was told by her Handlers before setting out on this mission, _but all it does, in the end, is reveal how afraid you are…So it's best to keep your pretty mouth shut at all times…_

And Angel followed that advice, even now.

That face lingered before Angel's for slow moments before it suddenly angled upward towards those holding her captive in anger.

"_Well don't leave the Lady hanging like this! Make her comfortable in a chair!" _He roared. _"Then go back at once, and find her companions!!"_

In the short rush to fulfill that command, Angel suffered from more jostling and twisting than she ever had in her life. But she really couldn't blame the Guardsmen for man-handling her, especially with a maniac like Serpentor constantly shouting all manner of threats at them for wasting their time while harming her, before they finally deposited her in the very chair Cobra Commander was drug from not an hour before. And from the floor below, Serpentor leered up at her in a most evil way, "Be comfortable…For now." He told Angel. "You're companions will soon be with you."

Angel did her best not to glare or show fear in his face…But with in she was scared, trapped with a madman and no way of escape…For now.

Wildman was thinking of Angel…

It wasn't all that readily apparent on his scarred face; even Colton had difficulty seeing it. But Wildman's silence and urgent behavior as he boldly led Colton through the vehicle garages, swarming with all manner of Cobra personnel preparing all manner of blue and crimson vehicles for some urgent reason, was enough to tell where his mind was. Only Colton didn't ask in the midst of the swarm, and simply allowed himself to be lead by the arm until reaching the surface by an emergency stairwell. Outside, it was hard to tell where they were at this point. Wildman put on what appeared to be old-fashioned horn-rimmed glasses, before looking quickly around.

Colton simply cut to the chase, he wasn't about to dance around on the subject.

"You're going back for her."

"They have her in the Command Center." Wildman detachedly spoke without turning at first. When he finally did after a moment, Wildman wore the same face of frowning defiance she showed Colton only hours before. "I promised her I'd get her out of this." He said in a whisper. "And I will keep that promise, once I'm able to get you to safety."

Colton simply narrowed his eyes. "I do not doubt that, Doctor." He directly told Wildman. "But for all your ingenuity, you may end up easily defeating yourself in this case."

"Are you suggesting that I simply abandon her?" Wildman glared.

"No."

"Then what?"

Colton frowned. Wildman was simply one moment away from acting illrationale. Abilities and sophistication, or not, he was going to get himself hung in the most ugly manner possible if not calmed down.

"Think smarter, Doctor…Not harder. Serpentor, for all his historical greatness, easily deludes himself with his own ego." Colton afforded himself an assuring smile. "The best way to beat him is to _surprise_ him, not with a more superior amount of force, but with cunning and finesse of the like even he hasn't anticipated."

Wildman gave him a serious look, but Colton, undeterred, continued, "Walking back in there the same way we walked out has its merits, but how do you propose to get her away from Serpentor when he'll be right next to her—treating her has both his 'prize', and bait.

"Now, I don't know how well that device of yours works on a crowd, but I'm betting its functions are limited—especially if Serpentor has her guarded by a small squad. But if you want to tip the odds in your favor, give Serpentor a really nasty surprise—_then go after the girl!"_

Wildman's face softened a little. He even gripped his watch while Colton spoke about how limited its effects would be, but remained silent as the General spoke clearly considering what he was hearing…

Especially one word in particular; "We?"

"I'm in this too, Doctor." Colton easily replied. "Your fault or not."

Wildman's face twitched slightly, around the jaw and corners of his mouth as he closely regarded Colton.

"I'm not going back to Warlock. Nor will my friends go into custody." He defiantly stated. "What I said when we met for the first time wasn't a lie…I will not be a governmental possession again, creating those horrors so the 'Free World' can remain free."

Colton anticipated the move, and had to swallow quite a few things just the same.

One being his orders regarding Wildman; failure to deliver him easily meant the end of his career and the existence of G.I. Joe on the grounds of _Failure to Follow Orders_, or what ever convenient excuse the Bureaucracy could dream up. But then, they hadn't any real ideal what Wildman _really_ was. And that would easily shift matters onto a different level, way beyond what any fantasy writer could come up with.

Colton knew he had to deal. He just hoped those he trusted the most wouldn't reveal all.

"There are people in both The Government and Military that I know will listen to me, and keep any secrets I tell them to deflect as much heat away as possible." Colton carefully told Wildman. "I'll sell them your reasons for not wanting to return in any special way you want, but they are going to have to know _you_ as well as the reasons _why _you won't go back…It's _what_ I can do for you."

Standing in the middle of enemy territory while trying to cut a significantly special deal wasn't Colton's ideal of 'fun' in any sense of the term. Nothing in his line of work really was which made earning Wildman's trust all that important to him at that moment. He was going to stick his neck out, and the neck of every Joe, on what amounted to a Longshot deal with highly uncertain returns…

But very important enough to risk it all just the same.

"Are you willing to trust me?" Colton earnestly asked.

Having said everything now hinged on what happened next. It was all in Wildman's lap. What he'd do, or what he'd say, he couldn't read the scarred alien's mind anymore than anyone else. But Colton could tell there was considerable consideration over what he offered going on in Wildman's mind as he stood there sizing him up with those weird eyes of his, especially in the way the available light there was reflecting off of them…Really freaky to look at, especially with the shadows that ran across his face, as he seemed distracted by something only he could perceive.

"We'd stand a better chance of saving Angel by _distracting _Serpentor?" Wildman slowly asked.

Colton nodded. It was all he could do at that moment.

"There'll be something arriving in the next ten minutes that might work." Wildman stated. "Another friend of mine."

TOM had expressed control over the Osprey-Jet, which didn't bother Wild Bill too badly. The Texan had flown next to everything that could be flown long before most ever receive their driver's license, and there was nothing like the feel of the 'stick' in one's hands to give them a clear assertion of who was in control of the situation. Because the stick was very enduring, even as mechanical gages and indicators were replaced by computers and flat-panel monitors that could display everything but one's favorite television show (though that may come soon) the stick was always there for the pilot to directly and instantly assert his control over the aircraft—in stead of wasting time pushing buttons or speaking commands when reflex was so much better.

But all this holographic stuff in the Osprey-Jet's cockpit made him very uncharacteristically uneasy. He had experience with holographic displays that told what was occurring with the aircraft on a moment by moment basis—so there was no trouble there.

But no stick, or even peddles for that matter, left him wondering how the craft actually could fly. There was simply nothing there to grip, to give assurance as to who was in control. Yukinama had no problem with them. She was used to them, he figured, while he only was trying his best due to the situation they were in. But if things went to pot, Wild Bill had the very uneasy feeling that he was strapped into his own coffin—which he kept to himself.

The I/P Deflectors were working fine in the blue; as long as they stayed there they were literally invisible to both Cobra's radar and to the naked eye. Being so close the Cobra Command Complex, the proper working of the system was not only vital but expected, like the engine mufflers, to work since they had only one chance to do what they were doing before joining the others at the research site.

For Wild Bill, it would be a chance to get away from all this 'super-sophisticated' for a while.

"How's things lookin?" He innocently asked Yukinama, who hadn't said a word since leaving the Delilegos.

She knew she was being addressed, but didn't readily reply for the sake of something quite verbally nasty would leap out of her mouth. Reduced in rank for carelessness, Yukinama resented being put in the subordinate position. But it was either take the reduction or be reported for carelessness that almost ruined the entire operation…

And she swallowed her pride. "We're pushing it. But everything's fine at this point."

Wild Bill nodded easily, and was about to say something concerning her current attitude when he noticed her flinching at something not readily apparent. He was about to ask what, when she suddenly said; "There's been a change of plans…His Highness and your General Colton need a diversion—_immediately!_"

"Now what—"

"You're not telepathic." Yukinama sharply responded.

"_Easy Commander."_ TOM's voice came over the intercom speaker. _"There's no need to be like that."_

Yukinama glared sharply at the speaker. But if TOM even knew, it didn't bother him at all.

"_Wild Bill." _He properly addressed the Joe, _"Stand-by to crack the rear door."_

Cobra Commander had made many more '_Just in case_' improvements to the CCC as it was being refurbished. One such was the special one-man elevators that ran with in the major support beams of the building, others involved weaponry and supply stashes he knew would come in handy. And the carefully disguised wall panels that were actually doors, gave him unprecedented access to every room and corridor within the CCC should the matter of a quick escape or entry ever arise.

They were quite clever plans, very ingenious and highly secretive. But no matter how much he hoped to avoid any serious inconvenience, he knew such would occur and would need to be dealt with. In this case, it came in the form of two Vipers simply lounging around the exact spot where the concealed door was. If it wasn't for the disguised hall camera displaying that unfortunate fact on a small monitor next to the door, Cobra Commander would have received a very bad surprise.

But still, of all places to lounge at. It made him what to scream out in frustration at his luck. If he was still in command, the two would have been instantly transferred to the Arctic, performing garbage duty until they died. Then again, there was the silenced sub-machine gun the Commander had. And with surprise on his side, the matter stood a good chance of being solved before either could raise an alarm. That was what he decided to do as he reached for the door lever, when another suddenly walked up to the Vipers.

Hydra. His suit was crumpled and covered with what looked like blood, and his hair was a frightful mess, but there he stood before the Vipers with a very serene smile on his face while pointing Mindbender's Brainwave Scrambler at them. Hydra was speaking, most likely in that buttery smooth tone of his. Cobra Commander had to guess since there was no audio with the video, but what intrigued him the most was that Hydra was _here _and not on the Delilegos as he should be. If Serpentor had attacked that ship, then by now the United Nations would already be on its way with a vengeance. That would explain Hydra's current condition—but not how he came to possess the Brainwave Scrambler, which he was clearly using on the Vipers.

_Why?_

Cobra Commander let his grip on the door latch relax as something came to mind, something Serpentor said right to his face just a short while ago; "_ I know…Hydra is one…And Wild-"_

Now Hydra was working himself into a glaring, wide-eyed frenzy, looking and acting like a southern religious zealot preaching to his captive congregation. Many times he'd jab a finger into the air as if to either make a point, or validate one. And the Vipers stood there listening to it all, until the climax, when at his wildest Hydra started gesturing towards the door in a wildly frantic manner and the Vipers quickly gathered their weapons and raced through the doorway…While Hydra looked on, smiling.

Cobra Commander opened the door silently and pressed the silencer's muzzle into the back of Hydra's neck. "Why aren't you on-board the Delilegos, Doctor?" he quietly asked.

Hydra stiffened. "The ship was attacked." He hurriedly threw out. "I returned to see if you had lost your mind."

"As you can see, there's been problems' occurring here." The Commander wasn't about to lower his guard around Hydra, because he obliviously lied, or trust him with any sort of weapon. He snatched away the Brainwave Scrambler, and looted every pocket of Hydra's tattered suit while keeping the silenced gun where it was. Hydra didn't protest at all. Of course, with the muzzle against his neck there was very little he could do…

Except find the right words that would open an opportunity for him.

"I ran into Serpentor…Out in the Jungle…Mindbender is with him—or was."

"Yes." Cobra Commander snarled while patting down Hydra's ankles. "So have I…He spoke quite at length about you. Especially about your and Wildman's _origins_."

And Hydra became quite silent at that…

Once done with the search, Cobra Commander spun Hydra around and jammed the muzzle for the Brainwave Scrambler under the gasping extraterrestrial's chin. He didn't care at all for being made a fool of, both that discovery and Serpentor's return left in a very agitated state where killing Hydra was a very real possibility…Had it not been for the Commander's own common sense telling him that 'killing' such an opportunity before him would be a horrendous waste.

One thing at a time…

"Where…Is…_Mindbender!!!" _Cobra Commander spat the name out with such viciousness into Hydra's startled face made it easy for him to cooperate. "He's dead…I killed him with a metal chair."

"_Where!!"_

"There a secreted lab a short distance from the Central Complex…You can reach it easily through the lower levels…"

So, Mindbender _was_ able to anticipate things. But Cobra Commander wasn't about to make that mistake twice, or again with Hydra. That he made certain by using the scanner on the hapless Edrailian.

"Show me…" he growled.

14


	18. Chapter 18

Seventeen.

Meteor.

"They've set up light-trips." Ayers pointed out.

They were one hundred years away from what had once been a research facility, now decrepit and hidden largely in the shadow of the sprawling jungle except where the bright moonlight was able to penetrate the thick canopy in slivers of various width and length. These glowing shafts were perfectly positioned giving the borrowed Edrailian night vision equipment a real case of the fits. More like over-sized ski goggles in size and overall appearance, the goggles had many more settings than 'simple' night vision but there was simply no time to really go through it all of what it could do—and night vision was simply what they'd use anyway.

But Ayers wasn't using any. He didn't need them when they were offered to him, and surprisingly made it through the jungle induced darkness better than they all did. Duke didn't question _how_, he simply remembered what the engineer did with Roadblock's Browning back on the Delilegos. When he turned for answers from Ayers, part of _how _was easily answered when through the goggles he could see Ayers staring back at him with brightly glowing eyes.

_Ok, _Duke told himself as Ayers started explaining; "The jungle floor has been disturbed in places, and contently enough it's in those places I'm picking up an electrical beam that criss-crosses the floor a foot above, at wild angles to each other."

Duke nodded, taking it all in. "How about the trees? Anything hanging in them?"

"Doesn't appear to be." Ayers remarked. "If there were, a creature or a strong enough breeze would set it off."

"Wonder what the front's like?" Beachhead remarked.

"Candy last said it was tight." Mercer commented, remembering the broadcast. "Just crawling with Night Creepers."

_And undoubtedly with excellent communications_, Duke considered which left him the option of calling out to Wet-Suit's group to start raising some cain as a distraction.

And, there was TOM being sent to the main island complex to do just that.

"How long before your big friend makes himself known?" Duke asked Ayers.

"He should be there by now." Ayers answered. There was more to say, but his wife cut him off.

"According to Yukinama, he's on the ground with Kim and your General Colton." She explained

"The General's here?" exclaimed Roadblock, echoing the thoughts of the Joes with him, and making Hawkern cringe a little.

"Apparently, they're going to rescue someone." She added.

Cobra Commander was an ego-driven bore. But as she sat there in what was his Command Chair, Angel considerably wished for his company instead of Serpentor's.

Of course, she knew, it was a matter of her beauty; the exotic mix of Moorish and African with significant additions of both Aboriginal and Anglo-Saxon came together in highly attractive and regal ways. Too attractive, as her Father would say, to fly a fighter jet, as she always wanted to do—and now could. That was why they had her as 'bait' to capture Wildman that very evening, and it almost worked…

Now, she found herself the unwanted object of Serpentor's attentions—who above all else, including being a madman, was an outright creep in the way that he'd occasionally leer at her. Originally, it was the occasional stolen glance from the floor when communications, or yelling at his forces over their inability to locate and capture Wildman and General Colton, weren't distracting him. But as time dragged on, the composite creation of numerous historical leaders slowly worked his way towards her just like a snake approaching its prey. _Don't look, or make eye contact; _that was the advice given for such situations, and she followed it very closely.

Only such behavior didn't deter Serpentor from his activities. His movements were as deliberate as his lustful gaze, and soon he was standing just behind her. Only then did Angel start to wonder about Wildman's promise.

"Such a pretty thing you are…Are you waiting for your hero to come and save you?"

Angel didn't turn or pay him any other sort of attention. She stayed rock still in the chair.

"How long are you prepared to wait, I wonder…It seems such a shame, really…" he softly cooed to her. "Even if they do arrive, they'll never be able to rescue you…"

Whatever he though he was, having a way with words wasn't one of them. He was downright annoying to her. But that was all an act, one meant to get under her skin so much that she would react—telling him how much pressure it would take to make her react, though she wanted to tell him off oh so badly. But her silence still didn't stop him, so he slowly moved around from the back to face her.

"Ah, very spirited." Serpentor lustfully leered down upon Angel. "A very unique combination to find in one so beautiful…It would be a great challenge, and pleasure, to break you…"

Then in a startling instant something powerful struck the entire complex, shaking and rattling everything there was. Alarms sporadically sounded as monitor screens went completely dead much to the shock of their operators and the lighting flickered desperately overhead to remain on. But above it all was Serpentor's loud and enraged voice demanding; _"WHAT WAS THAT!!" _

"We're under attack!" an operator yelled back. "Sector Three's not reporting in!"

"Four, Seven, and Nine are off line as well!" shouted another operator.

The Complex suffered another hit, and this time the entire building swayed from the impact as more electronic systems suffered dearly from this latest assault by arching and shorting out in highly spectacular fashions all around while parts of the ceiling rained down upon all of them. Especially the Command Board that both Serpentor and Angel were in front of, it shorted out with Serpentor standing right in front of it. His howling at being caught directly in the explosive flash of electricity was quite loud and painful—and advantageous to Angel. When the attacks occurred, no one, especially Serpentor, paid her any attention since she herself was just as startled by all the sudden commotion at first. But with her senses returning, and a door only a few feet away, now was the best time for escape as ever she figured. And as Serpentor yelled and cursed through his pain, Angel moved swiftly towards the doors…

Only to find them jammed due to no power.

There was an emergency switch; at least Cobra Commander was intelligent enough to think that contingency. A small red panel set into the side of the door that could be quickly popped open, which Angel reached for…

Only to have her had captured in one of Serpentor's large gold scaled gloves.

"No you don't." Serpentor growled in a voice as harsh as the burned scarred face glaring out from the mouth of the burned Cobra head-helmet. "Not at all."

Try as they may, Cobra forces in and around the fortified Command Complex could not get an exact lock upon whoever was assaulting the Central Command Complex. One moment, all was peaceful and ordinary like previous nights, and then all at once they were assaulted with missile and auto-cannon fire that easily decimated that place. All that was certain was that it was coming from everywhere killing scores of troopers and destroying even the most heavily armored vehicles with direct hits on every wave. But if they had the opportunity to really see what was actually going on, they would have realized the existent of the dilemma they were now in.

It wasn't just TOM, the Straifers, or those in the Osprey-jet blasting away at the CCC, there were also numerous hidden explosives being set off within bunkers, supply dumps, barracks, communications and power relays and underground garages—set well in advance by Sec-Nine agents who were busily avoiding being killed in the fray—as were Wildman and General Colton, running through the fiery explosions, raining debris and the panicking soldiers trying to find a place to hide from it all.

It was panic on the scale that General Colton rarely saw during his military career, Cobra's forces were literally disintegrating all around him in absolute panic from the sudden onslaught. If the Joes staged a sudden attack upon the Command Complex area itself, he reasoned, it was a clear certainty the place would fall easily. A pity that wasn't going to happen, he reflected while keeping up with Wildman, but it would be nice.

Like a way into the Complex itself. The majority of its heavy blast doors that allowed entrance were shut either due to power outage or being damaged by direct missile hits. After a while of finding one blocked entrance after another, even Wildman was showing signs of frustration in the effort.

"We may as well try flying!" he bitterly remarked to Colton after they ran around half the perimeter.

Colton himself took a different approach to the matter after looking their immediate area over.

"I don't suppose your friends could blast us a way in?" he asked.

Wildman looked stunned for a moment as the realization set in.

The light trips were easily shut down, but it took Ayers a little longer than expected to set up a feed-back signal to fool those who were relying on the traps. Then when the sounds of the attack upon the Command Complex reached them, Duke ordered the assault to start in earnest. At once, the P.A.S. Units hiding out front opened fired upon the ruins with mortars and auto-cannons, quickly flushing out the hidden Night Creepers and dozens of B.A.T.'s which were quickly cut down in the opening hail. Duke let one minute of this pass before moving his group in, keeping no illusions about having an element of surprise because Cobra wouldn't simply rely upon overly simple means of covering their flank.

And he wasn't disappointed. From the building itself directly in front of them, more B.A.T.'s lumbered out while firing their weapons. The Battle Android Troopers weren't programmed with any capability of avoiding damage, all they were good for was making any adversary that went up against them waste their munitions on their not so well protected bodies as they stood shooting back. Nothing more was spent than needed with them, so there was no need to expand their operational functions beyond basic. The Joes, having gone up against such creations numerous times, were well prepared with specialized munitions that could quickly drop any B.A.T. if the rounds hit any vital locations. Duke knew Hawkern could quickly switch between various rounds with her Auto-Shotgun, and definitely had a few clips worth of grenade rounds. But that classic Tommy Ayers' had was only capable of firing old fashioned .45 ball munitions, perfect for human's but not B.A.T.'s even if it was armor-piercing. Cyborg or not, Duke wasn't about to let Ayers go one-on-one with any B.A.T. armed with what he had. Even if he had to get right in Ayers' way during the advance, shielding him with his own body, Duke wasn't about to allow that occurrence to happen.

And it just about worked, until halfway to the building when more B.A.T.'s emerged from the right side surprising them. Before those defenders could fire, Ayers turned his Thompson on them and dropped four instantly before everyone else eliminated the rest—including a fifth B.A.T. that he was able to seriously damage before the others returned fire.

"_We're all clear out here Duke." _Scarlett called over the radio. _"How's by you?"_

Duke couldn't help but be impressed. Just like its owner, there was more than met the eye.

"A little trouble." Duke replied back. "But nothing we couldn't handle."

"_Excellent…We've also found a heavy door in the basement area that a lot of them died for."_

"That's gotta be it." Hawkern gasped.

"And we've got Two and a half hours left." Ayers remarked while moving past Duke towards the building.

"_What do you mean; No Communications?"_

The Tele-Viper nearly wilted from Serpentor's voice alone, but still stood trembling before his irate Emperor to give his report. "All communications with your special group have been lost. And, we're discovering our entire security systems been completely compromised—"

It didn't take much, or too long. Despite his injuries, Serpentor drew his heavy broad sword from its sheath and swiftly beheaded the Tele-Viper on the spot—in front of all in the Command Center.

"_I demand that communications be reestablished with our fellows, and that a force be sent out to aid them! We are under attack, and swift response is necessary!!" _He yelled to the startled techs and controllers while waving his bloody sword over his head. _"Any laggards shall die immediately!! This, I Command!!!"_

Needless to say, activity suddenly jumped a hundred fold. But even Serpentor knew that staying amongst the ruins of the Command Center was not the proper was of dealing with the current situation…He would need to go out to the place in person, to rally his forces and crush the attackers.

No one was going to deny him what the Fates had granted…No one.

He turned to Angel, now glaring back at him while better secured in the chair by the three surrounding Crimson Guardsmen there to insure she wouldn't escape so easily.

"My Air Chariot-"he started to say to the one standing behind the chair, but that one suddenly stiffened and promptly spoke; "Your Conveyance and Escort are ready and waiting for you above. And the engineers have fixed you a proper means of arriving there."

Naturally, such interruptions were intolerable. But being that it was the best news he'd received so far, Serpentor decided to spare that Guardsman's life as reward for his service.

"Lead the way." He commanded that Guardsman, and to the other two her ordered them to bring Angel along.

"To witness the destruction of your compatriots." He leered his explanation for doing such as she struggled. "Then perhaps you'll realize that I am not one to be trifled with."

There wasn't much she could do, shackled hand and foot. Two of the Guardsmen had to carry her as the third dealt with the door; the same one Angel had tried escaping through before. But do to her determined unwillingness, he soon had to step in and help carry her down the small service corridor that led to the private elevator at its far end—with Serpentor following close behind laughing with sinister delight.

Once in the elevator, he grabbed her once more by the throat to lift her face up towards his. "Struggle all you want to struggle!" He evilly leered at her. "I will take the greatest pleasure…in breaking you down!"

TOM was at the far opposite end of the Cobra Command Complex, wrecking havoc in the Heavy Vehicle garages, when the Mech received Wildman's call.

"No problem." It communicated back. "I'll be there in a jiff."

TOM did notify Wild Bill and Yukinama in the Osprey-jet of the call, but Wildman and Colton were in an area not too readily accessible for the Osprey-jet to reach due to the closeness of numerous structures--so Wild Bill indicated.

"If you can get em', Partner, there'd be a whole lot of very grateful people to thank you for it." Wild Bill remarked. "We'll keep tabs on that marker you told us about."

The marker was the tracker Wildman gave Angel, and it was shown to be moving upwards towards the roof of the central pyramid. So as the Mech crouched down just outside of the Garage entrance, TOM deployed its wings before leaping into the air in an unbelievably graceful fashion while activating its flight system that carried over the very top of the beleaguered Cobra Command Complex to a soft landing on the far side where Wildman and Colton waited.

Colton kept himself in perfect check as TOM approached Wildman. With everything seen this night, it was best, he felt, to simply roll with the punches.

"I've located the Tracking device you've been searching for, My Prince." TOM reported to Wildman. It's heading to the top of the main pyramid, where there seems to be some sort of landing pad behind the Cobra's head."

Colton blinked in surprise at Wildman being address as 'Prince', but when Wildman demanded to be taken there Colton snapped back to his surroundings. TOM was then crouching down, allowing Wildman to climb onto his back.

"You're going after her, aren't you?" Colton yelled to him.

Wildman was half way up TOM's back when he stopped, turning to face Colton at the same time TOM swiveled its head in the same direction as well.

"I made her a promise just as I made you, General." Wildman emotionlessly leveled towards him. "_And I shall honor it_. Now, are you coming or not?"

Colton considered things only for a moment, and then joined Wildman on TOM's back.

Hydra hadn't been lying. Under the influence of the Brainwave Scrambler there was no way that he could, but still Cobra Commander wasn't taking any chances—even as he stood over Mindbender's dead body. Hydra was never more than a few feet away, seated, where the Commander could easily use the Scrambler on him again without hesitation.

Mindbender's head was literally crushed, leaving the clone quite dead. Hydra had been truthful on that point; he just didn't indicate the condition of what he left the clone in. Now, the Commander slowly looked over the compact laboratory—scanning it for anything he could use.

When he settled upon Hydra, he asked; "Tell me, how did you manage to fool me so well?"

"They are called…_Persuaders._" Hydra sounded hesitant, a sign that the Scrambler's effect on him was weakening. "They are electronic low frequency devices that are attuned to special portions of any brain, allowing Edrailians to pass either without notice or to hide their oblivious non-human physical traits. They can…also be used to…persuade…one to act different…ly."

Cobra Commander dosed Hydra again with the Brainwave Scrambler. For an hour, or maybe two, Hydra would be under his control, and with the Scrambler being fully charged he could keep Hydra under control for as long as he need to.

"Show me how a Persuader works." He then asked Hydra.

They had the entire building captured in twenty minutes, with the final battles occurring in a sub-basement where cornered and literally out gunned the surviving Night Creepers committed suicide in front of the very elaborate armored door they struggled so hard to defend. The effort was intended to deny the Joes access to what lay beyond the door, for it had a highly sophisticated lock couldn't be opened by anyone else but them.

And would have stopped them, as they tried figuring out the systems unlocking code. While the notion was put forth to bring down a PAS and have it blow the door open, Ayers simply handed his Thompson to his wife, removed the glove from his right hand revealing its mechanical nature, removed his leather jacket and promptly shredded the entire right arm when revealing that his entire lower arm also concealed laser cannon, which blew the lock completely apart on the first try.

"We've got only two hours, people." He told all of them loudly, shifting his arm back. "Lets get moving."

It only took minute and improvised crowbar to open the door, which for its size and weight swung open with the lightest of pushes. There was no one on the other side of the door to oppose them, just a long stairwell that hugged the wall while heading downward to a special sub-level that was divided up into several smaller sections. Where in the third one, converted into a freezer, a more grisly find awaited them in the form of thirty clear plastic body bags arranged in neat rows on its own wheeled table. Adults and children, "Tourists" was what Hawkern described them as being as she walked solemnly into the room taking something from her belt.

The Joes, in various situations, had seen death and were after a fashion steeled from its initial effects. But there were times when even they were sickened by how a human body could be mangled and torn apart by the various weapons at people's disposal. What they saw with in those see-through bags, it wasn't all that much different with Edrailians.

"Oh man." Beachhead lowly breathed.

"There were fail-safes, multi-layered safeties—my husband explained it all to you earlier." Hawkern started speaking in a slow, detached voice moving from table to table. "A total failure of such systems is unheard of, unless it is cause by criminal neglect or a criminal act."

"Meaning a bomb." Leatherneck grimly frowned.

"Many things." Hawkern nodded while slowly moving along from table to table, holding what looked like a Blackberry over each body to take what appeared to be pictures. The Joes there didn't say anything, or do anything that would disturb her concentration or work out of respect. By the time she covered all the tables, she glanced at her device with a look of distress.

"There are five missing." She mentioned, before any of the Joes could ask what was wrong.

And in a much larger room near-by, Duke, Lift-Ticket and Roadblock had a very good look at the Meteor that caused all of the trouble. A really good look…

For all it went through, the civil version of the Military class-three Jumper still kept its relevant sea-turtle shape. But with its front smashed in, no windscreen in place, one wing, its tale section askew, and a missing side access door resting on a near-by table the charred vehicle was only fit for the scrap yard.

"So…This is it." Duke quietly breathed. There was little else he or the other Joes with him could really add to the moment, as they gazed upon the cause of so much occurring havoc in the world.

"If the coolant system failed, or the power core had cracked, we wouldn't be standing here now." Ayers loosely commented. "Hell, they wouldn't have been able to move it down here and live."

"So, what now?" Roadblock casually asked a sign that nothing else could surprise him at that point.

"Pull the Flight Recorders and System Monitors." Ayers answered while starting towards the wreck. "Detonate the rest. Can't leave anything useful behind."

It sounded reasonable enough; total denial of goods and services to an enemy was the best option at that point Ayers didn't need any help getting to where those devices were. One leap put him on top of the craft, and shortly afterward was prying open a stubborn panel. It was then Stalker called over the radio, "_Duke! Troubles' coming. Mercer figures several of the smaller southern garrisons they weren't able to hit have banded together, and are coming here in force. And it also looks like Cobra have somehow fixed their communications, and they are calling for help from where ever they can."_

Duke took the news grimly, but not unexpectedly. Every op never could run smoothly, those by his own admission this one came really close.

He looked up at Ayers, who finally resorted to tearing the stubborn panel off the ship.

"How much time would you need to do what you need to do?" Duke yelled to Ayers.

"About ten, maybe fifteen minutes." Ayers loudly answered without looking away from the compartment he'd just opened. And pretty soon, he started pulling out what appeared to be small attaché cases from the apartment.

Duke returned to his radio. "Stalker, call everyone back to site and prepare for Evac in thirty minutes.

18


	19. Chapter 19

Eighteen.

Into The Sky.

Serpentor did know of the Dom Delilegos, courtesy of Hydra.

If it had been just a 'normal' scientific research vessel, he would have ordered it boarded then sunk after taking hostages. But knowing it for what it truly was, the Cobra Emperor decided most carefully that it would make a better prize and bargaining chip against the Edrailians if it was captured. Playing off of the alien's fear of discovery would give him plenty of leverage when the time came to deal with them on a face-to-face basis.

It may also keep the United Nations at bay, if they ever found the courage to do more than making noises and resolutions condemning the act. Serpentor didn't think much of politicians; all they were good for was as food for hungry lions between the gladiator fights. But he did think a lot about the assault on the Delilegos; with the ship and crew crippled it wouldn't take too much to subdue it—as he gathered from Hydra. A second group of Night Creepers, backed up by two squads of Amphibious Commandos, he figured was sufficient enough to secure the vessel…

And they went out for what was to have been a quick, simple mission.

The word received by direct radio contact, which was the only available source of communications, wasn't pleasant. It fell upon a Tele-Viper to deliver the news to Serpentor, who at the moment was mounting his new Air Chariot, resembling an actual war-chariot with it's own driver and larger than the flying mounts of his Bodyguards accompanying him. What most definitely saved that Tele-Viper's life was Angel being securely locked in place by Serpentor's side--which prevented the enraged Cobra Emperor from properly reaching his broadsword to strike the Tele-Viper down.

_"Then sink it!"_ he bellowed, as he was carried aloft by his Chariot with five of his six bodyguards rising up on their own Chariots around him. _"They will not defy me, and well shall not let them claim victory against us!"_

The Tele-Viper didn't act on the orders until Serpentor and his bodyguards were far away. And ignored the sixth bodyguard as he ran past him, who was having trouble with his Air Chariot, as he ran past.

"Lousy worthless jerk!" Yelled the bodyguard at the fleeing figure. "_I'll see you hang from this tower!_"

Of course, first, he had to figure out how to get the Air Chariot started—since failure to join his Emperor properly would gain him the same fate. Aggravatedly, he went over the starting instructions in his mind, and could not see how he could have flooded the Chariot's engine, since it wasn't conventionally fueled. But the red light on the control dashboard indicated that no power was going anywhere to the anti-gravity units due to an command-overwhelmed CPU, sluggishly working its way through all of the commands the Bodyguard impatiently forced it to do when hurriedly to start the Chariot's engine. Already pushed to the brink of frustration, with a heavy dose of fear mixed in, the Bodyguard tried starting the Air Chariot again. And again, nothing…

He was ready to launch a heated curse to the makers of the Chariot, when Wildman landed without a sound next to him and quickly broke the Bodyguard's neck before shoving the man's body off the bike. With a quick scan of the dash, Wildman quickly found the solution to the Bodyguard's vehicle problem—and pressed the clearly marked Reboot button.

"Think you can fly that?" Colton yelled from above. He was still on TOM's back, and TOM was slowly landing on the platform.

Wildman looked the vehicle over; designed in the fashion of a high-speed motorcycle with weapons pods on either side and to the rear mounted like saddle bags, and three sets of fins for flight, Wildman was silent for a few moments before responding; "I'll know in about Twenty seconds."

"My Prince, my Master is setting the crashed Jumper's power supply for overload in an hour." TOM urgently informed. "You may not have enough time to affect a rescue—"

Wildman just glared at the Mech. Colton remembered the look before, from a million different faces all in war—before heading off to rescue a friend or some poor kid they never knew.

"I'm going after her, TOM." He simply replied, as they all had in their own different ways, and no amount of persuasion would make them turn back. Wildman then pressed the Start button, and the Chariot came to life much more willingly for him than its previous operator—as TOM pulled something from a compartment in his chest. Colton couldn't see what it was until TOM handed it towards Wildman, just as he was readying for flight.

It was a longsword in a back-holstered sheath, thin bladed with a very ornate hilt that was shaped in the figure of a long haired woman. Colton couldn't see very much of it due to the light and how TOM was holding the longsword to Wildman, but he could see the look of shock on Wildman's face at seeing it.

"Mistress and Master insisted I bring it." TOM solemnly explained. "They figured at some point…you would be in a situation where you'd need it."

Wildman was hesitant, even unwilling, to reach for the weapon. Slowly with trembling hands, he reached for it several times and pulled quickly away before finally taking it from TOM in an act that was a pure force of will. Even then, putting the sword on was an effort. But after it was on, Wildman's face glowed with apperception long held back.

"Tell em' 'thank you' when you see them again." He said "But get the General back to the Delilegos…For his own safety, alright."

Colton was surprised by that, too surprised to even act or stop Wildman from taking off after Serpentor.

"Damn the man!" he exclaimed. "TOM, go after him!"

"In about a minute." TOM replied. "Mistress and Master _also_ told me to keep an eye on him."

That really didn't settle Colton much. But he took stock in the fact that he wasn't being removed from the battle.

Then TOM turned his large head back around towards Colton. "He was raised to be a Hero, and was for a time was a Hero. But being such does have its inherent risks, especially for those closest to him. And of all things that could easily defeat him, failure was the worst—he took it so personally."

Colton just stared at TOM, not even understanding what he was speaking of but about ready to tell him to get moving in some very course language.

"One of the worse failures he went through was the death of his wife." TOM continued, not menacing words. "He couldn't save her, because he was too far away from her. And she fell prey to his enemies, which he blamed himself for being unable to be at her side."

Colton started to speak, but stopped when his memory forced its way rudely to the forefront of his mind—especially concerning why Wildman was so stubborn, so resistive during that meeting in the Penthouse Suite. The reasons for him being on Cobra Island were understandable, that couldn't be denied, but the anger that he displayed during that brief meeting, Colton knew wasn't acting.

"That's why he left…" Colton quietly realized.

"He was never on the Earth, General." TOM simply explained. "That's why he couldn't be found. Left behind many things, one of which was that sword I handed to him...His late wife is the figure on the hilt. His hesitance at accepting it is troubling…But the young lady he's trying to rescue does give some hope that he's over the pain."

"In deed." Colton quietly agreed.

TOM then turned his head back toward the direction Wildman flew off in. "A couple of moments more." The Mech quietly said. Then as a sort of spontaneous thought, pointed out the body of the dead Bodyguard to Colton. "You know, that small sub-machine gun he has can be very useful."

It took as long as Ayers said it would, getting the recorders from the wreckage that is. Setting the still working power unit to overload was a very different matter that involved plenty of frustration at a safety system that kept foiling the efforts, prompting Ayers to hurriedly rewire a sub-control system as fast a possible with plenty of profanity aimed at the entire system itself.

But if it wasn't for that safety set-up, as Duke recalled him saying so, none of them would be alive right now if it completely failed. What Ayers was doing, Duke didn't want to intrude upon—it was way beyond his sphere of understanding. And Hawkern was bringing up another, more pressing matter.

"According to documents found here, five bodies were taken to the Command Complex." Hawkern urgently explained. "Apparently for further examination."

"What'll we do, Duke? Hit the place?" Beachhead asked.

That would be impossible. TOM was on his way with Colton and Wildman after doing exactly that. Having them go back would be suicide even with all of the fancy gadgets they had. Besides, if things went to plan, which they apparently did, TOM wouldn't have left much of the Command Complex intact for any sort of searching. TOM was mounted up with enough ordinances to completely wipe-out several armored divisions, and maybe a little left over to devastate a couple of brigades. If Cobra was able to capture him reasonably intact, Duke would have hated facing what they'd make from studying the remains.

Duke quickly glanced at Ayers, he appeared to be finished. At least he wasn't spouting off too loudly at the system then, but Duke had to come to a quick conclusion on the matter before him.

"I'm sorry, we don't have much time to even make such an attempt." He told her as gently as possible.

"But the agreement will be voided if we don't return with all the bodies!" Hawkern franticly returned. "And Devronique would be free to do as he wants!"

For a moment, Duke really considered hitting the Cobra Command Complex. With everything hanging in the balance, the only right course of action would be to go back and search for the remains. But there was never any correct way of doing things, especially regarding dealing with Cobra…Or Cobra Commander.

"They're probably not even on the Island." Duke kept himself in control. "Remember what I told Ms. Candy about the Commander? He's a fox; not in a sexy way, but in a diabolical one. God only knows were he has them, but its certain they're nowhere near this place or Island at all."

When Hawkern started really looking frantic, Duke stopped her with; "Your husband is right now rigging that craft to detonate, wiping out everything here…Will that work?"

It threw Hawker off of what would have been a really frantic tirade into sudden frantic thinking. By then, it appeared that Ayers had the upper hand over the craft's safety system—judging from his sudden burst of maniacal laughter.

"We also found documents in a few of the file cabinets they had down here." Leatherneck stepped in, holding up several sheets with the Cobra Snakehead symbol proximately at their heads. "So it can't be said that we didn't find anything."

Hawkern was about to say something about that, weather to agree or counter wasn't known because then her husband leaped off the wrecked craft and happily announced to them all; "She goes up in an hour!"

"I thought you said twenty!" Duke retorted.

"I would have loved to have done it in five, but we'd waste too much time arguing over it." Ayers caustically snapped back. "Anyway, an hour was the best I could do with all of the rewiring _I had to do_—at least _it_ won't fail."

And that's when the building shook with a dull thud.

Devronique watched the clock slowly creep past the hour mark. Now everything would be measured in minutes. The House Council members will be arriving very soon, but with Hawkern's forces on Cobra Island actively engaged with Cobra forces it was entirely possible that The Council could order Devronique to delay his arrival until things were decided.

It wouldn't be fair, but under the Rule of Etiquette Devronique knew he had to oblige.

But there was still time, anything could happen, he consoled himself…

Anything…

Trouble came soon after one of SecNine's PAS' spotted the Cobra Observation Drone circling overhead. Naturally, without much thought, and knowing they'd be soon taken from of the area, one of the PAS pilots promptly blasted the Drone from the sky—which earned him a visit from Stalker. Still not over what he went through on-board the Delilegos, he personally gave the pilot a royal chewing out over his act of "Reckless stupidity".

That's when a Cobra Armored Division, armed with anti-armor weaponry, opened fire from the surrounding jungle, arching their shots over the jungle canopy to the coordinates given by the Drone before it was destroyed, and the Vehicle Identifier Systems of the 'borrowed' Cobra vehicles. The shots struck instantly, laying waste to the borrowed vehicles and several PAS's in the first wave sending robotic and vehicle parts flying everywhere causing even more damage to vehicles presently there. But those where the more graceful SecNine PAS's, with their light frames and light armor they could make a stand against infantry with modest anti-tank weaponry. Anything larger simply ripped them apart upon contact, placing a greater burden upon the heavier built PAS's supplied by Ayers who took several direct hits with only moderate damage.

Those PAS's that could immediately went airborne, firing back into the jungle with missiles and auto-cannons as those who were unprotected from such an onslaught ran for the shelter of the research facility. Then, another attack suddenly rained down from either side of the jungle, striking down even more PAS's with that voracious volley weather they be in the air or on the ground. The Jumpers who were on approach for the pick-up were waved off due to the sudden attack, but they did find where the attacks were coming from, as did Serpentor, hovering above and well to the rear of the Jungle canopy, watching with growing satisfaction. It was all going perfectly. The first attacks were just sacrifices to stir the enemy up and waste their resources as the main assault struck suddenly, sending them in to disarray with several hit-and-run attacks that began cutting down their numbers.

"Have the third and fifth groups begin the flank attack." Serpentor directed to a field commander over his Air Chariot's communications screen, which had the means of by-passing the bogged down communications grid. The fourth group is to wait until the enemy is finally driven from their position. Use elements of the first and second groups to assist in hedging them in at the south, and the remainder to assist the third and fifth with the push."

"_Yes, My Emperor!_" The Field Commander responded before Serpentor ended the communication.

Angel gazed into the grim inferno occurring below her in silence. Already, Serpentor's directed hit-and-run attack had easily decimated many of those defending the ruined building. Three more of the graceful armored knights exploded from direct artillery hits, while the larger, grayer, knights were pressed back against building—using their shields to protect themselves from the debris thrown at them from all around while counter-attacking.

She could also see the Third and Fifth groups preparing for their turn, as the now smaller first and second groups being divided up were being refocused towards their new positions and parts in the battle. And there was the Fourth group arrayed in a half-circle well to the rear of the building, just waiting for those with in to be pushed out towards them for the final defeat. Angel wanted to yell out what was happening to the defenders below, so they could decisively strike halting the Cobra advance. But her voice couldn't carry very well from that distance, and through all that noise...

Another graceful flying knight blossomed into a bright orange ball of flame, and then crashed to the ground in numerous pieces.

And Serpentor laughed.

"It will be over with soon, my dear." He purred, placing a gloved hand upon her right shoulder. "And you, like they, will know that I am not one to be tr—"

Suddenly, the communications screen before them came on—with Cobra Commander's face proximately in its center.

_"To all Cobra Forces both here and abroad, I, Cobra Commander, announce that I have regained control of Cobra from that self-styled buffoon Emperor, Serpentor. And having regained control, I will personally proceed in the hunting down and elimination of Serpentor before he drives Cobra into ruins!"_

Serpentor became vivid behind her. Angel couldn't see his face, because she felt drawn to the Commander speaking before her with an odd tingling in her brain—as were the Bodyguards around them, drawing closer to Serpentor's Air-Chariot as if in a trance.

_"The traitorous Doctor Mindbender has already felt my wraith, as well most certainly his—"_

_ "NO YOU WILL NOT!!" _Serpentor raged, smashing his fist into the communications screen. _"YOU WILL NOT MAKE ME A SLAVE, OR AN EXAMPLE!"_

Angel blinked in confusion as she was suddenly freed from the influence of the screen, as did the Bodyguards around them who were wondering why they were now facing Serpentor's Air Chariot instead of maintaining their protective picket stance around him. But Serpentor knew; somehow in his bid for freedom, the Commander was able to get a hold of Mindbenders Brainwave Scrambler and use its broadcast capability to influence all of Cobra against him. That was intolerable, and needed to be dealt with at once.

The Bodyguards hurriedly scrambled to salute Serpentor, hoping at least they would be spared their wraith. Serpentor eyed them all carefully, seeing the fear of him and their respect towards him that convinced him they were all loyal. "I want three volunteers to return to the Command Complex, and return to me with the head of Cobra Commander!" Serpentor commanded. "His act of insolence I shall not suffer at all, nor shall Cobra continue to suffer from it!"

There were seven Bodyguards. He knew he should have eight, but that was a matter that could wait for later. His gaze fell upon the three to his right; they would do, and prepared to address them when he noticed another Air Chariot racing up to them in the distance.

"Finally, our eighth companion arrives." Serpentor grimly frowned, thinking perhaps he should address this tardy one now…

Only to be shocked when the newcomer started firing his crafts machine-guns at them.

15


	20. Chapter 20

Nineteen.

Detonation.

"I am certain that once this blight is removed form out midst, Cobra can fully achieve its destiny. _Hail Cobra!_"

The camera's green light switched to red, telling that it was no longer transmitting across the entire Cobra communications network. Cobra Commander's attention lingered on the announcement that he'd just made before moving on to the Brainwave Scrambler's attachment that made it possible to use in a broadcast. Mindbender had been crafty, the Commander had to admit, and it was a pity he was dead but far better than finding a knife in your back.

_Perhaps_, he mused, I should grow another Mindbender. _This time making extra-sure he wouldn't turn on me._

That thought made him give Hydra a wary glance. Even under the control of the Brainwave Scrambler, the Commander wasn't quite sure about the Edrailian assassin. He did manage to sort out the virus program that entangled the whole communications system thus making the just finished broadcast possible. But Cobra Commander wasn't about to readily trust him just yet…Mindbender's body lay were it was, in a mess, and the Commander didn't want to end up in the same way.

He swiveled his chair around to address the Edrailian.

"Well?"

Hydra was poised over the control board in a dazed stance. Before him were several monitors, each showing a different aspect of what was occurring on the Island at that moment.

"The second attack launched against the Don Delilegos has turned back." Hydra droned "Those heading to assist Serpentor at the research factuality have stopped, but those still fighting there show no sign of letting up. But those at the Command Complex appear to be on your side."

"And the rest of the World?" The Commander asked. It didn't matter to him what those at the CCC were allied to, they could be replaced. It was everywhere else that concerned him.

"They are apparently on your side, Commander." Hydra droned. "You have no worries."

The Commander nodded and glanced at the monitor showing the battle at the Research Facility. He was close; he had to admit, so very close. Had it not been for both Mindbender's scheming and Serpentor's meddling, he could have very much pulled it all off…Now, all he could do was sit and wonder what could have been…And wonder what they'd leave behind. He still had a few things stored away, far away. But it may not be too much.

Of course, there was Hydra. Once he was free of the Scrambler's effects, there would be time to sit down and speak with him. As if he was going to be going anywhere afterward, as both Mindbender and Serpentor taped the very interesting conversation they had with him just hours before…

If the Joes at the Facility had known about what Cobra Commander did with the Brainwave Scanner, they would have been happy. Unfortunately at the moment, the Cobra forces slowly advancing through the surrounding jungle towards them didn't hear the Commander's special message and were still following orders from Serpentor. The muzzle flashes of their weapons were the only indicator that they were there, but spotting them properly through all the fire, smoke and vehicle wreckage was challenging—especially for any heat or radar guided missiles the Edrailians had with them. Being what they were, their systems would easily become confused by all the heat and bounce-off from all of the wreckage in the line of flight.

Only by being sure of where the target was could the weapons be effectively used, and that meant having to stand there and hope some Cobra gunner didn't score a lucky shot against the missile battery.

But there was one fact that couldn't be denied; the Edrailians around the Joes were as solid as they were in the face of hopelessness.

"I like these guys!" Roadblock yelled to Stalker, while firing a tri-barreled PAS-sized machine gun as his now useless Browning lay discarded next to him. "They're not givin' up anything."

Stalker just nodded grimly in response. At this rate, the Edrailians were going to take as may Cobra with them as they could with every wave. _But for how much longer? _He had to wonder. Cobra was using a very well organized Hit-and-Run assaults on three sides to squeeze them tighter and tighter in the spot they were at, giving them no time or chance to solidify their defenses. There were now only seven functional PAS's from Ayers still slugging away, but in really bad condition from what they already went through. All of the more agile PAS's from SecNine were all separate piles of smoldering wreckage, and their pilots who were saved were in dire need of medical attention.

All around them, munitions were running very low. Shooting was limited to when an enemy could be seen, not when they were herd. The Jumpers that were to pick them up couldn't get close enough for an extraction, and something happened on board the Delilegos that delayed the launch of the Straifers…

Then there was the bomb that lay below their very feet. If they didn't leave in Forty minutes, they all would be leaving in a very permanent, if not spectacular, way.

"We could use a miracle about now." Stalker quietly said to himself.

When he was a child, Wildman was often directed by his father to study large collected libraries of Edrailian legends, concerning feats of bravery and valor as part of his 'special education'. While the tales of the noble deeds performed by the heroes of the stories were thrilling to the young Wildman, their practicality in actual situations was anything but useful. Especially in the situation he found himself in; Serpentor, from what he read on the creation, wasn't the kind to simply allow him to get close enough to issue a challenge—especially when he had the clear advantage of numbers and arms.

But Colton had given him a way; _"Think smarter, Doctor…Not harder. Serpentor, for all his historical greatness, easily deludes himself with his own ego….The best way to beat him is to surprise him, not with a more superior amount of force, but with cunning and finesse of the like even he hasn't anticipated."_

So Wildman simply did away with chivalry, and attacked as he quickly closed the distance between him and Serpentor sending three of his bodyguards tumbling from their bikes with a heavy burst of machine-gun fire. There were others around the large Air Chariot on its far side, but the sight of Angel, chained and held tightly by Serpentor, made him quickly change his plans by rocketing straight upward in a perfect vertical assent. Had she not been too close, Wildman would have tossed caution aside and attempted rescuing her by quickly racing up to Serpentor's craft and snatching her away.

But Serpentor had seen him, and his forces had started moving to intercept, prompting Wildman to change his plans. And high into the sky he went, until throttling and leaning back put the Air Chariot into a slow end-over-end tumble. He twisted himself to the right before giving the idling engine more throttle, and was now facing directly downward as his forward momentum was dying.

It was so much like an Aerobike that he had to wonder about its origins. But that would soon wait, as one of Serpentor's Bodyguards was racing towards him with guns firing. Nor had Serpentor decided to stay and watch, he was no where to be found above the jungle canopy where he was moments before. But Wildman didn't fret; the Jungle canopy was thick but quite light at its upper most reaches. Serpentor and the rest of his men could be waiting for him just below the canopy itself.

First, though, he had to attend to this attacker.

The Air-Chariot's design allowed for its driver to sit in a reasonably comfortable upright position, but to match Wildman's vertical climb this rider raised himself slightly off of the seat and placed his feet upon the side weapons pods. Not particularly smart, since to match Wildman's dodges he had to twist both himself and the Air Chariot around in the effort to properly hit him as he was now racing towards him. Wildman kept his body close to the bike and his feet on the pedals, while hunched down behind his Air Chariot's windscreen during the dive, which gave him much better control when dodging the gun fire—especially as the distance between them quickly shrank.

Then at the last moment, Wildman made an unexpected rapid flip that placed him just above the approaching Bodyguard making him loose control and fall off his Air Chariot in the resulting backwash as he rocketed over and past him. Wildman then tilted his Air Chariot upward to a perfect parallel with the ground, slowing his velocity with the air breaks before moving forward across the jungle canopy. If he was right, they would be hidden by the canopy—leaving only one sure way of finding them…

He lowered his speed, and dropped through the canopy—hovering just beneath the heavy leafy covering.

The Air Chariot's radar was worthless here; too much interference from all of the branches around him. And even if he was still above, the canopy would make any radar reading impossible. As he figured his options, Hawkern's sending cut right through his thoughts; _"Kim! We haft to leave in Thirty minutes! Donnie's rigged the ship to blow up, taking all evidence possible with it…But we're trapped here at the facility by Cobra armored divisions."_

That made him freeze. Everything was important now. The dawn was coming soon, and any hesitation on his part would doom everything. The Mission was clearly important, far more important than the young woman he'd fallen for—and promised to protect.

It was with a heavy heart that he started upward. There was no time to search amid the canopy, despite what his feeling were or the hurried plans that ran through his head…

Until one seized him with such force, that he stopped his assent just before penetrating the canopy.

_Yes! _He grandly considered, that_ just might work!"_

He eased himself upward, just far enough for his head to penetrate the Canopy.

Serpentor was just behind him to the immediate left, raging at his remaining Bodyguards to find the one who slain their fellows.

Wildman took a very deep breath.

"_Serpentor!_" He yelled at his loudest, catching the Emperor and his men by surprise. "I'm going to personally wreck havoc on your forces attacking my friends! _Stop me if you can!"_

Then he exploded out of the Canopy, revving the Air Chariot's engine till it screamed, and set off rapidly towards the beleaguered facility.

Cobra Commander didn't leave Mindbender's special laboratory, to return in triumph back to his rightful place at the CCC. First of all, there really wasn't much left of the CCC that he could bother going back to immediately. The entire place would need to be rebuilt, but once after a thorough purge of Serpentor's supporters is done. That he kept readily at mind, but his thoughts were focused upon what was occurring at the deserted facility—where everything was.

He was close, oh so close. Cobra Commander bitterly regarded the events occurring outside the facility as they unfolded on the screens before him. Had he the time, there would have been more than a financial windfall from all of it for Cobra. But fate and events beyond his own control had conspired against him. Even with what marginal control he had over Cobra, Serpentor still held the upper hand.

Of course, a surprise attack upon Serpentor's forces around the facility could tip things in his favor—if he could trust what remained of his forces here. All he needed was one to send Serpentor a call to what was going on, and he'd faced ruin.

There had to be a way of sorting matters out for the better…

A random security camera transmitted from where the wreck was, making him fume even more upon seeing the Joes there with it—with others he couldn't recognize at first, though the blond in what looked like tight leather was slightly familiar despite her noticeably elven ears. She apparently was the center of a rousing discussion, there was no sound, that channel was dead. But eventually she relented, apparently to Professor Donnie Ayers, wearing his trademark brown fedora and battered leather jacket…And what looked like molded plastic bunny ears on a circular base where his ears would normally be.

This puzzled the Commander, but even more so was when the group finally came to some sort of an agreement before sprinting away from the area in mass…

The Joes wouldn't dare leave anything like that behind. As far as he knew, the lifts and the carrier platform, used to bring the wreck where it was were still operational and a single heavy-lift helicopter could then carry the wreck out of there. Granted, Serpentor's forces weren't making it easy for them in the first place—but that had never stopped them from performing such feats before…

Which left him to wonder; _if it were him in the same situation, what would he do?_

The answer came soon enough; _Blow it all up._

Cobra Commander stood up from his chair, which brought him to Hydra's dulled attention. There wasn't much of a chance at analyzing the craft's power source, but it wouldn't have taken much imagination on his part to figure that it was something far more powerful than simple nuclear power—oh definitely more powerful. Perhaps powerful enough to flatten the entire Island…

He reached for the communications button, to send the alert out to his loyal followers—but paused.

Because Serpentor was sitting right on top of it, he realized. Oh how convenient that was.

Just simply as it was convenient to walk away from the Island without alerting anyone to the danger, who could easily pass it along to Serpentor.

He drew his hand back from the button…_No…We mustn't warn anyone…_

And simply turned to Hydra.

"Please follow me." He simply asked Hydra.

There wasn't much time, every shot and missile the Air Chariot had had to used in the most effective way. And Wildman did exactly that. The Cobra forces used Gun-Carriages with mounted Heavy Mortars to inflict the most amount of damage upon those at the facility. H.I.S.S. Tanks were present also, but were useless against the dense jungle growth and couldn't traverse their cannons high enough to hit the facility at that close range. There were smaller vehicles as well, with smaller mortars, adding to the bombardment.

And their supply vehicles near-by, just chuck full of munitions.

Wildman targeted those. The Air Chariot's defenses were simple to use, featuring a holographic HUD appearing on the windscreen. Right next to the radar, that he always paid attention to—and was soon rewarded by missile tracks heading towards.

Serpentor, as Wildman judged him to be from all that he was composed from, had the flaw of _pride_. Serpentor could not back down from a challenge to his character or rule, no matter lowly he considered his opponent to be, without risking damage to his standing amongst his peers and the loyalty of those who followed him. It was the surprise Colton had alluded to; he _had_ to act--it was demanded of both his position and character. And right now, that action was swiftly approaching from the rear. Wildman dove down sharply towards the Cobra line, releasing several missiles distraction flares at the Cobra line before pulling up and rocketing away. Even so, the blast waves generated by exploding munitions carriers and tanks all most swatted him from the sky, as the chain-reaction explosions occurred along the artillery line when the supply vehicles' stocks he targeted were thrown against other supply vehicles and the near-by Gun-Carriages detonating on impact. Wildman added to the conflagration by firing more missiles at other supply vehicles before making a tight rapid climb and twist upwards to avoid the explosive results. That maneuver almost caused him to loose consciousness, even for one as physically prepared as he. His vision dimmed as he started feeling light headed, even as he strained to prevent the blood from leaving his brain until he leveled the Air Chariot out over the now burning Cobra line.

In moments, he was back to normal and seeing everything around him; the two Bodyguards who chased him over the Cobra line were below and heading upwards rapidly but firing their guns not their missiles, the remaining one stayed around the larger Air Chariot that Serpentor had claimed for his own, waiting for his word to enter the chase…

And Angel was still there, held captive by Serpentor.

"_Kim! MOVE!"_

Hawkern's sending cut though the mental haze, jerking into action by suddenly dropping himself downward while spinning. Surprised by the move, the first Bodyguard gunned his engine shooting past Wildman before he could open fire with his guns. The second Bodyguard wasn't as lucky, and was knocked off his Air Chariot by the gunfire. Wildman didn't stay too long after that attack; he dove again this time into and through the burning jungle to elude that First Bodyguard.

"_He's above you, Kim. Make a wide left, and bring him over to us."_

He wasn't about to argue with Hawkern, and performed the sharp left which brought him out of the jungle and through the thick smoke from numerous burning vehicles and PAS's below him. He could see one very battered PAS start to turn, raising its rifle as many figures emerged from the ruined facility. Hovering above the jungle canopy before them were the brick-shaped Straifers, finally arriving and unleashing a devastating surprise attack their weaponry upon the now beleaguered Cobra forces below.

Wildman cut sharply to the left again. He herd the sounds of many weapons firing that quickly ended with an explosion he felt occur behind him. He didn't turn or look to see, there wasn't much point in doing so. Spiraling upward, Wildman aimed his Air Chariot towards something much more important…

Six of his best were gone, and his last was eager to go after the approaching attacker, but Serpentor made him stay were he was then whispered a command to his Air Chariot's driver; "Wait until I give the command."

He didn't care at all if Angel herd him. In straightening, Serpentor flashed another leering grin daring her to do something about it.

By then, Wildman had slowed to a halt before Serpentor's craft. He stayed ready at the controls with a hard look on his face.

"I presume _that_ _you_ are Wildman." Serpentor sneered.

"Just as I presume _that you_ are Serpentor." Wildman tossed back, which made the Cobra Emperor laugh loudly in a display of egotistical grandeur.

"_I am Serpentor, you foolish worm of a man! I am the Emperor of Cobra, and the whole World by right! _Do not believe for an instant that your kind instill fear in me—on the contrary! _It will be I whom you will fear!!"_

Wildman didn't at all appear moved by Serpentor's ramblings. His eyes would flicker every so often, but his face remained firm and unemotional. Angel knew Wildman could see her, and everything. Afraid to yell to avoid the oblivious, she conveyed her distress to him through facial expressions and gestures while being mindful of the remaining Bodyguard hovering near-by.

"So, Wildman, do not dare consider yourself my better—or equal, for that matter." Serpentor continued with an impressive show of teeth. "But consider yourself my slave! _Surrender yourself to me at once!_"

Wildman's face twitched, as if suppressing a laugh.

Behind him, the jungle surrounding the research center erupted into explosive flashes of orange and yellow, which sometimes bathed Wildman in their light. Angel could just see smaller, slab-like craft in the light firing downward to the jungle floor causing the fiery mayhem.

Then Wildman's face became a mask of coldness. "Draw your weapon, and we'll fight about it." He lowly growled with eyes fixed upon Serpentor. "I'll be God-Dammed to be a slave again, _and I'll be God-Dammed if I be yours!_"

If Serpentor was expecting this, Angel couldn't tell. The Emperor stayed completely still, even as Wildman reached back and drew his sword from its sheath with his eyes still fixed on Serpentor. The remaining Bodyguard was getting antsy, and the Chariot's driver below Angel was gripping the Air Chariot's control yoke—rubbing his thumbs over the gun triggers oh so eagerly…

"_KIM!!_" Angel screamed.

Many things happened at once; Wildman suddenly shot upwards, narrowly avoiding the sudden cross-fire between the Bodyguard and Serpentor's Driver. Then the Bodyguard's face mask exploded to the sounds of a sub-machine gun, sending shards of plastic and bone everywhere and he limply toppled backward taking his craft with him to the jungle below. Wildman then dropped out of the sky landing on the front of Serpentor's Air Chariot, murderously slicing his sword into the skull of Serpentor's Driver as Serpentor grabbed Angel by her right arm…

And flung her far from the Air Chariot.

The jungle canopy rushing up as she tumbled headlong towards it. Being shackled as she was, there was no way that she knew of successfully grabbing at the braches to break her fall. And no hope of any miracles occurring to save her from this predicament…

Only something exploded out of the canopy, racing towards her with arms out, landing in the presence of metal in perfect timing to Serpentor screaming overhead; _"DAMN YOU, WILDMAN!!" _ Then came a loud swirling sound coupled with breaking braches and even more gunfire, before ending with a heavy thud on the floor far below. When Angel's head finally cleared, there was Wildman, on his borrowed Air Chariot, moving towards her with concern evident on his scarred face.

And there she was hovering in mid-air…

"Great catch, TOM." Colton applauded from somewhere above.

"I just happened to be in the area, General." Replied a very modest, but very English sounding voice—that soon became quite sharply directed to someone before her, "And you, Kimball Clarke Wildman, should not have been so _reckless_! This poor child would have been killed in your idiotic attempt at bravado!"

Angel glanced upward. There was Colton looking most sternly over the squarish shoulder of some large robot, whose arms she was nestled in, wearing a wide brimmed floppy hat and what looked like a multi-colored scarf. It was recognizable from somewhere, but Angel's head wasn't clear enough to recall where exactly it was from.

"It wasn't bravado!" Wildman quickly countered. "I was trying to be—"

"_People, can we argue about this some other time?" _ Wild Bill's voice came from TOM's head. _"Like after we get ourselves out of here?"_

"This child does need medical attention." TOM, motioning to Angel, stated.

"Oh no." Angel finally piped up. "I'm perfectly fine—"

"That's the adrenaline." Wildman immediately told her. "When it goes away, you'll be in pain—trust me."

Colton turned towards TOM, loudly asking; "Have the rest gone, Wild Bill?"

"_Just take a gander for yourself, Sir, as I come up from behind you. That should be the last one leaving the facility."_

That final Jumper, lit by the fires all aroundthe Research facility rose quickly into the air to join the other three heading westward towards the Gulf as the Straifers unloading the last of their munitions into the southern face of the building, collapsing that portion into a heap of wreckage that would take days to clear out—if there was that amount of time available.

Colton just smiled knowing there really wasn't, as the Osprey-Jet slowly moved along side of them.

The submarine was experimental, utilizing an electrical field along its hull to repel water to cut drag thus achieving greater speeds than possible for any submersible. It was an ideal picked up from the Chinese, who used air instead of electricity to make a torpedo move faster in the water. But tests showed the air bubbles would have given away the position of the craft while underwater, so Cobra took a very different approach by utilizing its anti-gravity research.

The _How's_ and _Why's_ of it really didn't matter to Cobra Commander at that point; it worked and he was currently using it to put as much distance between Cobra Island and himself, with a unconscious Hydra in tow.

He had already radioed ahead. There will be loyal people waiting for them at the far end of the Gulf…

He just hoped he'd would be far enough away when what ever it was finally blew up.

The word came in the final fifteen minutes; _Wildman succeeded._

Despite being no crash survivors to rescue, and it being impossible to secure their remains, the Council was satisfied by the Cobra documents and promptly ordered Devronique to halt his plans and leave the Earth vicinity as soon as possible.

Namely, at once.

Devronique dismissed his Admirals and Generals with the message, and when they left him alone in his private rooms he quickly flew into a violent rage that lasted for hours. Nothing remained untouched in his furious wake that lasted for several hours, and no one was safe from his volatile curses. To Fate, for stealing his chance away when it was with in his grasp. To Merrimack, for failing so horribly when he was needed the most…

Oh, he would be getting his due, Devronique promised himself, for he would give it to him.

And then to Wildman, for foiling everything…Oh he was going to get it as well, Devronique promised himself also…

And when he was finally done, he dropped himself into the only useable, and still standing, chair and brooded in absolute silence.

"_HURRY UP!! I KNEW SLAVES WHO COULD WORK FASTER THAT YOU LOT!!"_

The sky was beginning to lighten, and the assorted Cobra soldiers were anything but fit for heavy exertion, but Serpentor wasn't going to allow feeble flesh to stop him from achieving a goal of absolute grandeur. Despite bleeding from several wounds and burns across his body, he was still a force that motivated the soldiers-turned-workers to move the debris from the building entrance even faster—already achieved by beheading anyone attempting to argue against excavating the Research facility.

It was excellent motivation for the rest of then, Serpentor knew it would work.

But every so often, there would be another on to deal with. Serpentor didn't consider it too great a loss, considering what the results would gain him. The Stars, how he used them in his many lives to guide himself and his armies by, or simple ponder their existence as he lay beneath them to sleep. It never occurred to him during those many times that they would have worlds of their own like the very Sun had the Earth, and that which was buried beneath the rubble of this building lay the very means of placing them with in his grasp—to dominate them as he had so many lands in so many lifetimes.

He would be worshiped as a God, by all them. And with such a high ground under his control, there was no way the Earth could ever resist him and the hundreds—no, he corrected himself, the Billions he would control. An army so vast, its sheer number was unthinkable…

Yes, it was a grand dream…A dream that lay easily with in his grasp.

That suddenly vanished in a flash.

As the dawn broke over New Orleans, a very ragged and tired Gung-ho managed to drag his battered self back onto the Tower Continental's property. It had been a horrible night, though not as long as some he had lived through but there was plenty to face; _Reckless driving, Destruction of Government and Civilian property, Dereliction of Duty, Illegal actions during a mission, Endangering innocent lives…_

_Abandoning teammates. _That last one really stung.

If he were really lucky, it would be a dishonorable discharge. Then at least he could just simply crawl into a nice, quiet, hard to reach portion of the Louisiana swamps and live alone with the shame for the rest of his life. Plodding one heavy foot after another down the quiet ramp of the Continental's parking garage, he wasn't in the mood to wonder if it was the very same one that a lifetime ago he spotted that car with the Dreadnoks clinging to it come racing out. That only was the beginning, after escaping certain death from the sinking police car the hapless Gung-ho found himself in a bizarre myriad of adventures that left him in such a state that not only he was very lucky to be alive—but not arrested for vagrancy.

_Momma always said Orleans should be avoided, _he reflected. And boy did he learn that the hard way.

But the sound of bear feet rushing up from behind on concrete still made him turn around to see the giant figure rapidly approaching from behind. Instinct, despite being dead tired, took over and Gung-ho laid the stranger out with a beautiful right cross to the jaw.

Not even a sweat. Gung-ho frowned down at the man, who was lying there completely naked, and shook his head.

The he paused and looked again, because there was something familiar about the man. And it dawned on him; it was Thrasher, the Dreadnok driver.

"Oh man." Gung-ho moaned, and stumbled away.

22


	21. Chapter 21

Twenty.

Into the Future.

As August slipped into September, a massive tropical front settled over much of the eastern United States reaching as far inland as the Appalachian Mountains. Heavy with moisture, the massive gray cloud wall hung ominously in the sky sometimes at less than a thousand feet above the ground from southern Pennsylvania and New Jersey all the way down to the Florida Keys sounding off with fitful bouts of thunder and lightning with in the massive gray mass. And many were left on edge, because, as the Weather experts put it, it wasn't a matter of how bad it was going to be—it was a matter of _when_ it was all going to let loose…

When it did, it was a solid wall of water crashing down from the sky accompanied with howling winds, loud thunder, and lightning that struck without mercy.

But this natural event would never come near in intensity to the storm that Kimball Clarke Wildman caused two weeks before when addressing the entire UN Assembly on the _exact_ cause of toxic poisoning of the entire Gulf of Mexico as well as the events surrounding the mysterious explosion that very much reshaped and denuded Cobra Island. Or the issue of what was going to happen in the future, which Colton was very much aware of. The Meteor Madness was one very serious shock to Humanity's system, he concluded on the drive back from Washington D.C. with Ayers. What Wildman did at the UN was another, and with the two following so close together on top of the international argument over weather or not Wildman should be immediately turned over to authorities who'd place him in 'Protective and permanent custody for his own safety', especially while requesting an 'advanced preview' of his scientific findings, pretty nearly put them all over the edge.

By protecting Wildman from the very Government they served, the Joe Team found itself uncomfortably in the exact center of this legal storm, while coming under increasing public scrutiny over what happened that night. General Colton, backed by the largely razzed Joe Team and a goodly number of lawyers Ayers and Hawkern had at their disposal, knew what his rights were and fought back by stating soldiers _could_ disobey direct orders from their superiors, even their own Government, if such orders were in conflict with lawful rights and personal safety of both soldiers and civilians, whose lives may come to harm if such orders were followed.

"Doctor Kimball Clarke Wildman is not a criminal. Nor should he ever be considered criminal" Colton openly pointed out. "He has not ordered any massive genocide to occur, nor has he caused any great harm to befall nations. And has he not become a member of any organization, institution or government that has dedicated itself to such mayhem that is so recognized by the Free World as '_Criminal_'.

"He is a free citizen, who risked his life at his own free will to help bring to a conclusive end the urgent matter of the toxic contamination of the World's oceans—thus saving the whole of Humanity from possible extinction. On that alone, he should be granted his freedom instead of being hounded by Government's for his knowledge and abilities."

Even with public opinion slowly turning in their favor, Colton knew he was taking a horrible risk. Even with all of the legal protection of the Law, what he was doing could easily be termed '_Desertion_' and '_Dereliction of Duty_', resulting in either dishonorable discharge or life imprisonment—or both. But he balanced that out against the realization of what _would happen_ if Wildman's Edrailian identity was ever found out during the flight from Cobra Island, while racing across the Gulf on the Dom Delilegos' hydrofoil skis, just before the Jumpers' detonation lit up the entire pre-dawn sky. The greed, mixed with the desire of those in power trying to control this new variable and those trying to exploit it for their own good, would only move Humanity's collapse from the possible to the definite—with the Edrailians coming to their Earthbound fellows aid, as Wildman openly feared they would.

"We're not here to conquer, General Colton." Wildman simply said to him as they stood on the aft landing deck of the Delilegos before the explosion. "But we will definitely not allow ourselves to be conquered, especially by self-deluded political leaders of your world."

"You cannot hide from Humanity forever." Colton replied. "Eventually, an incident will occur that will force all of you out into the open."

While the wind generated by the speed of the Dom Delilegos whipped Wildman's long hair into a wild frenzy behind his head, he smiled somewhat sadly.

"We know." He said. "It's _inedible_. We are preparing for that day when we _must_ come out. But, as it is with all things, it will take time to achieve…"

And Wildman stepped forward, extending his hand outward to Colton unthreateningly…

"And trust." He added. "You've earned ours."

As they shook hands, Cobra Island blew up behind them. It was such a surreal scene; Colton would never forget the event.

Because of that Colton did everything he could to protect Wildman from 'vanishing' into the shadowy bureaucratic world of Intelligence agencies, finally winning with a combination of legal maneuvering and public sympathy to such an existent that the American Government was forced to concede to allow him a form of 'temporary' freedom until his case could be properly vetted out.

Then Wildman unleashed a storm of devastating criticism when giving his findings before the entire UN Assembly while citing the toxin's origins as being from the drums of Nuclear and Industrial waste, disposed in the area sixty years prior when legal and without concern, that had ruptured their contents as the impact of the Meteor strike.

It was an excellent lie, well crafted and executed with the utmost precision that covered up everything it one felt swoop that satisfied everyone. His solution of dealing with the matter, in which he made it very clear that it was going to take a decade before the waters were normal enough for life to fully return, involved the immediate removal of the drums and their toxic residue from the floor of the Gulf and the halting of any further dumping of industrial toxins from both the north or south, while at the same time an anti-toxin, designed by himself and scientists of The Exploratory Society, would be injected into the infected areas by the Dom Delilegos and several other retrofitted ships under the direct control of the Exploratory Guild. Then he issued a bold warning to the entire United Nations Assembly not to interfere with the clean-up operation

"Bureaucracy has its limits." He told them. "When it steps beyond those limits, because it '_believes_' it can and has the right to do so, it ceases to be anything useful to anybody. All of us have a stake in the continued existence of this World, _all of us_… The only thing that can be gained from exerting your '_authority_' in this matter will be bitterness and woe for the rest of the World."

In the political storm that followed, Colton was more worried about the impact of Wildman's speech upon the efforts to keep him free than upon his personal safety. One didn't tell _any_ Government, _especially_ the United Nations, to _'back off'_ and expect no form of reprisal in turn. And true to form, the UN Assembly wasted no time in issuing edicts and referendums insisting that _they_ should be allowed to oversee the clean-up project because, in _their_ expressed opinion; _"No independent organization had the extensive means to effectively combat such a 'global menace', or act in an openly defiant manner to United Nations authority." _

But Wildman and the Exploration Society skillfully played their cards by appealing directly to the public when citing the harm being caused by the over-bloated, over-reaching, overly-complex, overly-dependent and overly self-delusional bureaucracy of the United Nations, just so they could maintain control over everything. So when the cleansing began, no nation, not even the U.S. Navy, attempted to prevent it at direct governmental command—since no politician anywhere was willing to risk their political existence in the face of Wildman's overwhelming public popularity.

And the United Nations bureaucracy continued to thrash and wail about like a child having a serious temper tantrum because no one would help it, until in late August when an independent group reported the toxic tide's slow retreat from the Atlantic. After that was verified several times over, the UN, under pressure from its many chastened member governments, had to grudgingly conceded to allow the Exploratory Society handle the matter as long as they produced progress reports.

A rumble of thunder brought Colton back to where he was; safely out of the weather, standing at the bay windows at the southern end of the Facility Lounge atop of the Administration Building which presented an excellent view of the grand parade area before him that ran down the center of the entire University campus southward to the grand Clock Tower and Sorority Houses at the down at the far western end, where all of the student dorms were located, splitting it effectively in half between the Science, Medicine and Engineering Halls on the south and the more genteel professions of Business, Social Science, Politics and Business. Never had there been a more majestic array of Gothic Victorian-era buildings of red brick, polished marble, rough-iron, with pointed roofs covered by solar panels and numerous antennas, spread out like a miniature city surrounded by dense forest, groomed lawns, gardens, and several geodesic domes of varying sizes and heights surrounding the entire campus at different locations either singularly or in groups.

It was a privately funded, fully accredited University where those either Edrailian or living among the Edrailian were sent, by choice, to complete or further their educations. As such, it couldn't truthfully field any national sporting teams or compete in any other scholastic events—but it did allow teams from its numerous dorms the luxury of 'battling' it out amongst themselves in similar ways for status and the usual bragging rights. But in any sense, it was a marvel unto itself.

He and Ayers had just spent most of the morning especially arranged meetings with people in Washington D.C Colton knew could be trusted in keeping important secrets. This was especially nessicarry, the entire Edrailian matter was a hot potato that needed careful handling when the time came. Colton realized the need to inform a very selective group of what really occurred that night on Cobra Island, to explain the potential magnitude of the event coming to Humanity to prevent as much trouble as possible. It wasn't an easy sale to make. Having Wildman along would have been easier, but after the UN everyone figured he was safer by staying at the Society's headquarters, except to finally visit his wife's grave at the Glacier Valley colony, until his fugitive status was completely resolved—a matter that didn't bother him too much because it gave him more time with the recovering Angel.

Hawkern could have done it, but she would have been too much of a distraction—a fact even she readily admitted to—because of legal, and other matters, surrounding her because of what made her so 'infamous' to the public at large. So, that left Ayers to play diplomat. Already being known in Washington, though for less than ideal reasons, Colton figured he'd play the odds and hoped Ayers would retain some measure of civility around these people he trusted.

It was close, especially when dropping his Persuader field to reveal what he really looked like. Ayers didn't take out his anger on anyone, but the fine old mahogany long table he shattered was a total loss. But in the end they took what was given to them, abet shaken by it, and promised to help all they could. It was a lot to ask of them, and burnt through at lot of favor and credit he had, Colton knew they'd keep everything hidden—for now.

Now, he had to break that bit of news to the Team. At least with the agreement of those in Washington, it was now easier to do.

As for Ayers, he was relaxing with hat back and tie loosened in one of the fine Victorian-era leather chairs clustered around a fine mahogany table—one of several in the high ceiling Lounge—behind him. Everything about the Lounge reminded Colton of a high-ceilinged grand ballroom, or a cathedral with its large darkwood and iron studded cathedral doors. An impressive stained glass and rough-iron skylight dominated a large portion of the rooms' curved ceiling, now closed by outside shutters which protected it against the weather. Within was filled with comfortable Victorian-styled high-backed Kingswood leather chairs and couches clustered around large circular Kingswood tables, it also had extensive dark oak paneling from floor to ceiling and twelve very large crystal chandeliers hanging from the high vaulted ceiling by heavy iron chains. A Bar was set in the northeast corner of the room with a polished and highly decorative darkwood bar that curved from the east wall to the north. There were other rooms of different sizes, one floor below, but none suitable enough for the twenty-odd Joes who were currently rooming in the Guest Facility section of the building's northeast addition.

Below him were people running for shelter from the storm, or trying to get through it without getting too badly wet. Colton mentally wished them luck, while Ayers continued to smoke his Briar-pipe with that sweet smelling tobacco he favored. The smoke didn't last too long in the air either in form or scent after Ayers expelled it, a fact that didn't move Colton to ask him to put it out. Having played hardball in too many smokey rooms with too many politically minded, or just egotistical, generals and other individuals during his time, left him with a distinctive dislike of the habit and a desire to end it where ever he effectively could. Here though, he was a guest and since what Ayers smoked wasn't too terrible for him he raised no issue with it.

There other, more pressing things to be concerned about.

"Are you sure they'll allow us complete access?" he asked Ayers.

The bionic engineer took a very long drag from his fine briar pipe, releasing the smoke as he spoke. "From what I herd your people made some real proper impressions amongst the House Advisors in Glacier Valley. With Kim's backing, what you want done is a sure thing"

Colton quietly nodded at that. They were already dealing with fire from their side. Thankfully, they didn't have to endure it from the Edrailian side.

There was a knock from the door frame, since the giant door to the lounge was quite open and inviting, and the call for the meeting went out as soon as they arrived, it was still surprising. Still though, Scarlett was standing there with Shipwreck and Cover Girl close behind waiting to be allowed in were hesitant to enter until Colton motioned them in. Ayers took one last long drag from his briar before placing it on an ashtray, which he promptly carried over to the Bistro's bar. While coming back, Angel and Hawkern entered behind Beachhead and a still unsure Gung-ho. The big marine was still getting over what happened in New Orleans, reports of which were still coming to Colton by several means and channels.

But looking out of place were Angel and Hawkern; the British agent in white pajamas that really stood out on her, and the Porn Star in standard gray sweat pants and long-sleeved shirt—with probably nothing underneath, but that wasn't anyone's business or concern at the moment.

And finally Wildman, wearing tennis shoes, demin pants and worn T-shirt that had _Elfquest _in fading emblazoned letters beneath three smiling figures, and breathing heavily from running through several buildings and up several flights of stairs from the Infirmary where he'd been studying for his medical reinstatement. His hair still was very long, but now braided and tied up to where it lay flat against his back and not everywhere else. His side bangs and the rest on his head, Colton noted, could use some improvement—but that was his personal opinion. Edrailian males preferred their hair long, and arguing about it would get nothing done. Colton just nodded, smiling that he was welcome.

Then TOM, bending over while holding his hat upon his large head least he loose it against the upper door frame. And finally Duke, who closed the door at Colton's signal.

When they were all settled, Colton started his address; "I have called you all here to brief you on the Washington visit, the one concerning 'recent events'."

The room fell silent. Twenty faces gazed with a variety of concerns at him from twenty separate seats.

"First off," Colton continued, "we're still a Team. Yes, both the Pentagon and The President aren't too pleased with us at the moment, but there's very little they can do because they're all afraid of what Wildman could reveal about the research performed at Warlock--legal matters not withstanding."

There was a collective sigh of relief rising from the assembled group, but largely from the Joes. Wildman himself looked especially worried, being the one with all that dangerous knowledge in his head as Angel turned to face him over her shoulder as Hawkern gently held her hand in her lap. Colton himself sympathized with his plight, but it was what Wildman would reveal about the 'Weapons no sane man would ever want' that made the Government force The Pentagon Generals to back off from plans to reform the group.

Once things passed and quieted, Colton started again. "Now, for…_the other matter_. It is certain that those whom Professor Ayers and I met with today will not only keep the secret, but also help with Wildman's legal matters. But I must ask that patience be exercised in this matter, because it's going to take time to get it all settled."

Wildman looked a little better at hearing that. Then Duke raised his hand.

When Colton nodded to him, the First Sergeant asked; "Sir, may I ask how long is that estimated to take?"

Colton quickly glanced over the group before him as they looked to him for an answer. Clearly, they had been talking about this very fact amongst themselves since it clearly didn't fall with in the parameters for what they were trained to handle. He did have an answer, and braced himself when he gave it.

"Two years, Duke…Then, there will be no need to keep the secret any more."

Their response was stunned astonishment. But as it settled in, all of them, except Wildman, began showing varied signs of worry mixed with a grim eventfulness of what was approaching was unavoidable. The scarred genius knew what was coming, and had worked on the timetable with his people. Hawkern though apparently had no clue as to what to expect until now, and gazed worriedly at her husband.

"They're commin'…out of hiding?" Beachhead swallowed.

"There's really no choice in this matter." Ayers simply, suddenly, stepped in. "Advancements in detailed imagery mapping, by both your civil and intelligence concerns, is with in two years of being able to defeat the Persuader Field Generators that presently prevent us from being found on the Earth. Such tighter scanning ability, which will achieve a higher detail resolution of the landscape than previous systems, will enable it to slip past the Field Persuader's wavelength-- exposing that which had been hidden from sight for so long.

"Needless to say, abandoning the Earth is out of the question. We're too entrenched here, and would leave too much behind—even if we dug up the foundations of our homes. So, the House Council has opted to 'come out of the closet', so to speak. Preparations for that day are currently underway, which include every conceivable happening including forceful take-over attempts by individual nations, corporations, and even the United Nations itself."

"That's quite paranoid." Scarlett winced.

"Not really, especially when you look at it from their point of view." Wildman pointed out behind her. "We've had a literal front row seat to everything that's happened on this planet for some Fifteen hundred years. Some of it made it into the history books, and that which has been deliberately left out of them. To be quite honest, I do see their reasoning in their present behavior."

Angel didn't look very comfortable with that, but kept herself quiet. This wasn't the place for such arguments, because any such arguing would solely be based upon supposition and possibility. Not very great things to hang anything upon, and Colton knew it.

"People, this is much, much more complex than backroom political power playing." Quickly stepping back into, and taking control of, the discussion. "That night, we became very aware of a whole new set of possibilities that will become serious deciding factors in the coming future. These possibilities are going to seriously upend our world into becoming something we've hoped for all our lives, and dread with equal conviction."

Angel looked up to Colton. She appeared reclusive, which Hawkern quickly caught onto and quietly started consoling her.

"Now, many of you have accepted this current situation with and open mind, which I am very grateful." Colton continued. "There are a great many opportunities to achieve unparalleled success in significant areas, but there is also an equal amount of opportunities for exploitation. I'm not just speaking about Cobra or what they'd try doing if they ever get their hands on such technology. All of you know very well there are governments, politicians, corporations and many other influential people in this world, and in our own country, who would see the Edrailians as a perfectly exploitable resource which may cause a great deal of harm to all of us.

"I consider it pretty much a given that such attempts will be made. Some will fail; others will succeed—possibly through something as innocent as a treaty or agreement with the United Nations. But it is definite that at some point _it will occur_…"

As Colton caught a breath, he noticed all of them were much more attentive than they were before--which was good, because he'd never been more serious before in his entire life. Even Ayers, who simply nodded in sad agreement to the General's words. Colton glanced once at him before continuing, "Starting at once, all current Joes on the active roster, inactive roster, reservist roster, and all Greenshirts, are to be given a crash course in Edrailian culture and technology, up to and including its handling, through Ayers Aerospace. This, I hope, will give us a heads-up when it really hits the fan. We may have to deal with more new enemies than just Devronique, but we'll be ready."

Colton laid it all out for them as best as he could, which was the direct method that he knew best. But there was one more question. Way in the back, Roadblock raised a massive hand.

"Learning…from…_them._" Roadblock stumbled with his question. "The higher ups at that meeting cleared it…Right?"

Colton started right at him. "No, Marvin…it's our own initiative to do this."

That was greeted with stark silence from all of them.

"_That_ meeting was among those that I could trust outside of the Joe Team with this information." Colton explained to all of them. "And _they will_ help us in this matter. Otherwise, none of us would be seeing the light of day forever because of what we experienced that night."

"Those who escorted Kim to his wife's grave made quite a favorable impression in Glacier Valley. That helped in getting everything perfectly cleared for this." Ayers announced. "Right here, right now, all of you have started this training. And once a timetable is set up between General Colton and myself, things can begin in earnest."

"Are there any concerns any of you present may have with that?" Colton then asked.

There was a stirring with in the group; some were in disbelief while others were quite literally blown away by the possibilities, and grinned with excitement at the prospects of what he contained. From the rear of this, a heavily scarred hands and arm raised upwardly.

"Yes, Doctor." Colton recognized.

The hand and arm lowered, and all turned their attentions to Wildman. "Thank you, General, but this question is directed to my friend." Wildman easily spoke before addressing Ayers. "Donnie, have your people, your _family_, been briefed about this?"

Ayers quietly regarded his friend, who hadn't meant any harm in pointing out those facts. In fact, it was difficult sometimes to tell weather Ayers was going to explode into anger at any given moment.

"They've been told." Ayers replied easily enough while motioning to both Hawkern and TOM. "TOM's broadcasting what's going on here to them. Lisa's already talked to the kids, but didn't know how soon things would be coming." After receiving the withering stare from his wife on the matter, Ayers then modestly concluded, "And like I stated, we really don't have much choice."

Colton had wished for better news, or a better way of dealing with the matter before them. The Joes were considered insubordinate by their own government for protecting Wildman instead of following the orders to hand him over, and the Edrailians had their backs to the wall. With no other option available to them, and clearly not wanting violence, coming out was the only way out. And that day promised to be a terrible one indeed.

But as soldiers who've sworn an oath to defend and protect their country and its citizens from all harm, the Joes by keeping the Edrailians, whose trust they've fully earned through Wildman, a secret for now were protecting their country and its citizens from the possibility of another grand panic that could rival the Meteor Madness. They were already picking up the pieces from that mess; there was no need to hit the World with another massive shock. And the best way of dealing with that was to take the time to prepare for it. And they would be there, not only in force to prevent violence from occurring to the Edrailians, but also there to help smooth the way for the revilement and afterward. That was well with in their duty to perform. Only the politically motivated in D.C. and the Pentagon would say anything otherwise. They were the ones who had to be kept in the dark for these next two years, for their greed and desire for power would place everything at risk.

That Colton knew made the decision an easy one, as Duke suddenly spoke up about "We've done things that were outrightly insubordinate before, because there was no other way of dealing with what was thrown at us. Every member of the Team knows that.

"But revealing them now, could easily touch off situations that none of us would want to be in…Situations that can quite easily become ugly for everyone, and the entire World. Preventing that from occurring would be part of our duty, Sir."

Many heads nodded in firm agreement to that, making Colton smile.

"We're with you, Sir." Duke finally said. "We're with you all the way."

Colton was relieved. He knew his people; he knew they'd pull through for him—and everyone. Because they were the best; they were G.I. Joe. Come what may, they were all going to face it head-on.

And in the crowd, Angel turned extending a hand towards Wildman…

Who accepted it with a smile.

20


	22. Chapter 22

Twenty-one

Prologue.

To the outside observer, Arboc Incorporate was a well known international corporation specializing in the transport of goods throughout the World, either specialized or common, with various rates and very customer-tailored bill repayment plans. But beyond the customer-friendly appearance and decent growth rate, even for such a goods carrier, was the hidden fact that Arboc was Cobra's 'civilized face to the whole world. The entire Corporation was run by Cobra's highest ranking Crimson Guardsmen with extensive experienced in law, finance and corporate operations, and quite often used to move Cobra personal and supplies anywhere in the world with out the single bit of suspicion being raised.

And that's how Cobra Commander planned it.

Seated in the darkened office of the Mexico City Arboc corporate branch, he contemplated the future while gazing at the flashcard memory chip he held between gloved forefinger and gloved thumb. He had been alone a lot since that night, and hadn't bothered too much with Cobra Island's current shattered state. Yes, it could be reforested to its previous state in twenty years. And once the explosion induced seismic activity subsides to safe levels, they could also attempt rebuilding the mass of the Island making it even bigger than it originally was…

The Lawyers quickly spun out a tale, placing full blame for the night's events squarely upon Serpentor's interference, a fact that was helped along considerably by Wildman's United Nations speech—so the Commander didn't have much to add or anything else to do on the matter. He could also add that the ruptured canisters were failed experiments that Mindbender wrote off before dumping them into the Gulf, but again Wildman's United Nations speech covered that so well he could easily just sit back and play the 'victim' of Serpentor's schemes and no body would be the wiser…

And thus, the World was saved—as long as the politicians didn't interfere for some unfathomably egotistical reason.

But none of that concern him more than the chip he held in his hand.

He had taken it from Mindbenders special laboratory, thinking it would help locate the other installations where right now more Mindbenders were being grown to grow even more Serpentor's to constantly vie for control of Cobra in the future. It didn't have that, much to his immediate frustration. But what it did have was the interrogation of Hydra by Mindbender and Serpentor using the Brainwave Scrambler, which was a goldmine of unbelievable proportions.

Hydra, or Merrimack as he was known, was a skilled scientist and assassin who was originally sent by his Master, Lord Devronique, to infiltrate Cobra highest ranks, which placed him in perfect position for the next part of his Master's plan. It was only by dumb luck that just before the incident occurred that Hydra was sent to the Amazon to 'deal' with an experiment that had fell well behind schedule, and had to stay there until things were finally straightened out. But then, the Commander had retrieved the craft and the remains of its passengers (whom Hydra was to have assassinated if any survived) before making that surprise visit to the United Nations to offer any assistance that he could.

Had Hydra succeeded, Lord Devronique could have them be free to arrive on Earth in grand fashion and unleash the next part of his plan; which involved suckering Humanity into becoming his slaves. And after breaking Lord Hawkern's hold on the House Council, would then breeze to his long held dream of being Emperor…

While the plan did have its far-fetched parts, it was very plausible and sound concerning what Humanity, most notably its leaders, would do if such an alien arrival did occur…And he had come so close to succeeding…

Now, Cobra Commander had much more to contemplate now. Much more than he believed possible.

Hydra was safe. Resentful, angry, vengeful, but quite easily pacified by the fact that if he ever got out of line it wouldn't take the Commander too much to pump every bit of information out of him with the Brainwave Scrambler before simply letting him go for either Devronique or Wildman to find. And Hydra knew what that meant. So, the reluctant Edrailian became Cobra's reluctant guest giving not a moments worth of trouble.

That gave Cobra Commander all the time he'd need to exploit the only advantage he had in all of this; _He knew…He knew who they were, and where they were…_

That would give him something of an edge when it came down to it. All he had to do was to plan very, _very_ carefully…To win.

4


End file.
